On RWBY Wings Part II: Vytal Flag
by sentinel28II
Summary: Four female fighter pilots fly and fight in the wartorn skies of the Remnant of the United States. Welcome to the second part of the saga of Ruby Flight. Last chapter! Ruby, Ren, Nora and Pyrrha form a new flight, with a new mission. They've got a long way to go, but they won't be entirely alone. But Salem is out there...and she's not alone either.
1. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

_**ON RWBY WINGS II: VYTAL FLAG**_

_**Part II of "On RWBY Wings"**_

_**An Alternate Universe RWBY Fanfiction**_

_**By Sentinel 28II**_

_WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: It is the year 2001. World War III has been over for almost 40 years, but in its wake was left a devastated world. Half of the world has been either turned into radioactive ruins, or abandoned to the mechanical GRIMM. No one knows who controls them. No one knows why they exist. All they do know is that GRIMM—an acronym for Ground-launched Remote Independent Multimission Munition—exist only to kill. Humans, and genetically engineered human-animal hybrids known as Faunus, now hold onto what is left. _

_The remainder of the world has struggled to rebuild, and mostly succeeded. The militaries once created to fight the Cold War now exist to defend the remaining habitable areas—the "Remnant"—from the marauding GRIMM, along with other humans taking advantage of the chaos. For much of the world, training for this duty culminates in an annual exercise in northern Wisconsin at Joint Base Beacon, called Vytal Flag. _

_This year, four young female fighter pilots in particular have distinguished themselves in aerial combat, against the GRIMM, the air pirates known as the Torchwick Gang, and the radical Faunus terrorists called the White Fang. Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long of the USAF, Blake Belladonna of the USMC, and Weiss Schnee of the Luftwaffe have formed Ruby Flight. Despite age-old rivalries and hidden secrets, Ruby Flight has become a true team, alongside the other flights at Beacon—namely Juniper Flight._

_After fighting off the biggest GRIMM attack on the Mississippi River Barrier in over a decade, at the same time fending off a joint Torchwick-White Fang attack, Ruby Flight doesn't get much of a chance to relax: Vytal Flag, now billed as a public relations exercise, has resumed, and they will be in the thick of it. But there are still enemies out there—both without and within—and Ruby Flight's lives are about to change forever…_

_Above Lake Michigan_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_8 May 2001_

"We screwed this up nicely," Captain Blake Belladonna growled under her oxygen mask, to no one in particular. Despite the fact that she was at the controls of a Grumman F-14 Tomcat, hers was unique in that it was a single-seat version. The _Gambol Shroud_ was unique in many ways.

Right now, its uniqueness wasn't very apparent. Though the F-14 was in the twilight of its long career as a fleet defense interceptor, Blake was currently being outperformed by an aircraft that was basically a relic, a museum piece. Someone had forgotten to tell Lieutenant Reese Chloris of the Lebanese Republic Air Force that, because her Hawker Hunter was giving Blake fits. It didn't help that the rules of the exercise gave away the Tomcat's biggest advantage, its long reach—it was visual range only weapons, AIM-9 Sidewinder heatseeking missiles and internal guns. Old though it might be, the Hunter was equipped with both, and Chloris was getting everything out of the old aircraft. Making matters worse was that Blake had foolishly allowed herself to get pulled out of the mutual support of her wingmate.

Blake stole a glance behind the F-14's twin tails and cursed softly as the Hunter settled into the six o'clock high position. "Reese, Fox Two!" Chloris called out, but she was a tad fast. Blake rolled hard into a split-S, breaking the lock and dodging the missile—or would have, were an actual missile in the air. This combat was entirely simulated, a computer back at Joint Base Beacon cataloging the shots and feeding information to Range Control, who would determine if a shot hit, making the target a "mort," simulated dead. Chloris' shot was outside of parameters, which meant that, if the combat had been real, it would've been a clean miss.

Blake pulled out at six thousand feet above Lake Michigan, a thousand feet above the "hard deck," an arbitrary safety margin to keep enthusiastic fighter pilots from accidentally diving into the lake. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, looked up and saw the Hunter diving on her from above. Chloris wasn't giving up: she had rolled the fighter downwards and was trying to catch Blake at the bottom of her split-S, where the Tomcat would be out of energy and out of airspace.

Except Blake was a step ahead of her opponent. She firewalled the throttles, felt like someone shoved her back into her ejection seat, and pulled the stick into her lap. _Gambol Shroud_ converted the energy of the dive into airspeed, and the F-14 rocketed upwards, ruining Chloris' gun pass. Straining against the pull of gravity, Blake looked behind her again, obeying the dictum drilled into naval aviators from the first day of school—_lose sight, lose the fight—_and saw Chloris climbing as well. Blake smiled beneath the mask. Despite being half the size and weight of the Tomcat, the Hunter could not climb with it; its single Avon engine was just not up to the task. _Now she'll break off, and I'll drop in on her,_ Blake thought.

To her surprise, the Hunter kept doggedly climbing, and to Blake's horror, she saw the fighter start to flutter, then it twisted and fell out of the sky in a stall. It whirled once, and Blake's finger hovered over the radio button, to make the call that Chloris was out of control, which would bring the exercise to an immediate halt. To her relief, the Hunter's nose came down and the aircraft resumed controlled flight. "Reese, Blake, you all right?"

"Reese here. I'm fine." Her breathing sounded labored. "Lost control for a minute."

"Reese, Range Control. Charlie Mike?" The controller wanted to know if the Lebanese woman could continue.

"Charlie Mike. Come and get me, Blake!"

"Yang, Blake," Blake called out, as she rolled out at the top of her climb, still keeping an eye on Chloris, far below. "Where are you?"

* * *

Captain Yang Xiao Long did not answer, because she was also not trying to meet a grisly, simulated death at the hands of one Captain Arslan Altan of the Turkish Air Force. She had more of an excuse than Blake: Altan was at least flying a F-16.

Yang pulled hard into a left turn, cursing herself even as she heard Blake's call, because she'd lost visual on Altan in the turn, which meant he was probably about to kill her. "Arslan, Fox Two!" Yang instantly reversed her turn, dropping flares behind her. There was no confirmation from Range Control, so she'd successfully evaded the simulated shot. She leveled out, just long enough to see the F-16 coming back in behind the twin yellow-trimmed tails of her _Ember Celica._ She counted one full second, long enough for Altan to get his gunsight on her, then snap-rolled her F-15 to throw off his targeting solution, then threw the Eagle into a gut-wrenching left break. The G-meter on the instrument panel buried itself past 9 Gs—nine times the gravity of the planet—and Yang felt like her G-suit was squeezing her in half. Blackness appeared at the edges of her vision and she screamed with sheer exertion. Finally, she came out of the turn, and much to Yang's disgust, she looked out to see the F-16 level with her. Altan waved, her speedbrakes popped open, and the F-16 seemed to stop in midair as it began to slide behind her.

"Yang, extend out! I've got your bandit!"

Yang didn't question the call. She snapped upwards into a hard climb, putting herself into the sun to throw off Altan if the F-16 followed her into the climb; unlike the Hunter against the F-14, the F-16 could keep up with a F-15 in a climb, at least initially. Altan, taken by surprise, pulled her speedbrakes back in and began climbing, but _Ember Celica_ was already out of range, far above her.

"Ruby, Fox Two on Arslan!"

Altan heard the call and broke hard, but slowing down to get behind Yang had left her out of energy. "Range Control to Arslan. You're a mort." Arslan spit a vile Turkish curse, but immediately went back to level flight and turned east, to clear the exercise area. She watched as another F-16, almost identical to hers, shot past above her, its outer wing panels painted bright red.

* * *

"You're clear, Yang!" 1st Lieutenant Ruby Rose called out happily. Getting a simulated kill was pretty awesome on its own, but the fact that she had "saved" her own sister was just icing on the coolness cake. She kicked the tail around and dropped the throttle back, slowing _Crescent Rose._ "I'm dragging him for you, Weiss!" She started throwing the F-16 around a bit, just enough to keep her opponent from getting a good solution, dropping flares as well.

Lieutenant Bolin Hori was also in a F-16: like his friend Arslan Altan, he was also a TAF pilot. He had been trying to keep the red-paneled F-16 in his sights for over five minutes, since the merge that started the fight, but every time the other Falcon was just able to slip out. It was embarrassing; the USAF F-16 was an A model, almost a generation older than his F-16C. Now, however, it looked like his opponent had finally gotten complacent, celebrating her victory when she should've been watching the sky around her. Hori took his own advice and did a quick scan through the bubbletop canopy, and saw a gray shape moving towards him. He put it out of his mind: it was undoubtedly the Eurofighter Typhoon that rounded out this Ruby Flight he'd heard so much of, but the Typhoon was well out of parameters for a missile shot, at over 90 degrees of deflection. Hori would dispatch the F-16, then turn into the Typhoon for a quick pass. "Any time, Nadir!" he called out. "There's a F-15 and a Typhoon that need to be killed!"

"I'm tracking on the Typhoon, Bolin. Keep dragging her."

* * *

Oberleutnant Weiss Schnee spared a quick look to her right, dropping the wing enough to see the delta-winged Mirage 2000 climbing out of the hard deck to get in behind her. She ignored it for now. "DUST, lock IRIS." She looked in the direction of the Turkish F-16. Her Typhoon's DUST—Defense Utility System Technology—instantly used her own eyeline to target the F-16 for the advanced IRIS missiles that hung under the wings of _Myrtenaster._ "Weiss, Fox Two."

Normally, Hori would have been right: the Typhoon was at the wrong angle for a heatseeking missile shot, even one as sensitive as the newest Sidewinders. The IRIS, combined with DUST, was a different story: it could fire off-boresight. _Myrtenaster's_ nose didn't even need to be pointed at the opponent. "Range Control to Hori. You're a mort." More Turkish curses filled the air as another F-16 went level and turned east.

Weiss turned right even as Ruby did the same, trying to trap Nadir Shiko between them. Shiko, a lieutenant in the Egyptian Air Force, saw the trap developing, and climbed to break away from both of them. "Reese, you'd better get your arse over here!" he called out. "I'm engaged with a F-16 and a Typhoon! Both the Turks are morts!"

* * *

"On it," Chloris replied. "Let me finish off this _sharmouta_ of a Tomcat first!" She smiled, because that was not an idle boast. Blake Belladonna had evidently lost sight of her Hunter—easy enough, because the Hunter was a small target—and was motoring around near the hard deck, looking for her. Chloris opened the throttle and closed for a gun pass, wishing it was real. Not because she hated Belladonna, but because watching the Hunter's four 30 millimeter cannon tear things up was fun. "Takka takka takka!" she called out, centering her sight on the F-14's broad back. She was supposed to make a guns call, but _takka takka_ was traditional among fighter pilots, and Range Control would understand.

Except they weren't responding. She had kept the gunsight on the Tomcat for the required three seconds. "Range Control, is Blake a mort?"

"Negative, Reese," she heard Blake's voice say calmly. "But you are. _Takka takka takka!_ Guns on the Hunter!"

The F-14 in front of her faded from sight. Chloris looked around frantically, but could not see the F-14. "No joy! No joy!" Then she saw the black-painted Tomcat slide up on her right wing, and knew she'd been had. Blake had watched her chase a hologram while she flew into the Hunter's blind spot for a humiliatingly easy gun kill.

"Reese is a mort," Range Control confirmed.

* * *

"Shit, fuck!" Shiko shouted; in this case, Arabic didn't have the wide variety of curses as English did. He kept his finger off the radio button and stayed in the climb as the three aircraft of Ruby Flight milled around below, waiting for him to come down. _Wait a moment,_ he thought, _three?_

"Yang, Fox Two on the Mirage!"

"Holy _shit!"_ Shiko snapped the stick to the right as the shape of a F-15 hurtling straight at him blotted out the sun. He quickly rolled back to reacquire the F-15, but his break had been a fraction too late. "Shiko is a mort," Range Control dutifully reported. "Ruby Flight wins."

"Damn," Shiko sighed. He leveled out and saw the yellow-nosed F-15 come up alongside. He shook his head and saluted. "Yang, Nadir. You are one crazy _al-kaliba."_

"Nadir, I'll take it as a compliment," Yang replied. She returned the salute, then rolled away to join her flight far below.

Ruby took her hands off the throttle and stick for a moment to beat on the sides of her canopy in triumph. They had won. She checked the clock on her instrument panel: the entire battle had taken just under six minutes. "Ruby to Range Control. Permission for echelon low pass?"

There was a short pause. "Ruby, permission granted. Relay from Jehovah: no victory rolls."

Ruby grinned. Ozpin was not going to let them put on too much of a show for the crowd. It was no secret that the commanding officer of Vytal Flag was less than pleased that it was a televised spectacle, and having a midair collision or crash because someone made a mistake would not help matters. "Ruby Flight, Ruby Lead," she called out. "Low pass in echelon! Let's see if we can blow a few hats off!"

She led them down to about a thousand feet. Weiss settled in on her left wing, her nose only ten feet from the inert Sidewinder on _Crescent Rose's_ left wingtip rail. Only ten feet from Weiss' left wingtip was Yang's _Ember Celica,_ and six feet from the F-15's wingtip was _Gambol Shroud—_Blake getting closer because Marines had to do it better than the Air Force.

Ruby Flight roared down the Wisconsin coast and flew over the breakwater of Sheboygan harbor. Below, the harbor was crowded with pleasure boats and the marina with onlookers, all there to get a glimpse of the air combat taking place over Lake Michigan. Ruby waited long enough for everyone to get a good look, then ordered "Break now, Rubies!" She pulled hard to the right; Weiss gave her a second, then did the same, followed by Yang and Blake. The effect would be quite the sight on the ground, each fighter splitting the air over the onlookers. Ruby laughed in sheer exhilaration, then slowed down and ordered her flight back into trail for the short trip to Beacon.

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_8 May 2001_

Chief Master Sergeant Arnold Vogelmord crossed his arms over his head, and the F-16 stopped about four feet from him. The earsplitting wail of the engine wound down, and the other ground crew placed wooden chocks under the wheels. He walked over to the side of the hardstand, grabbed the ladder, and set it in place as the canopy opened. Vogelmord climbed up to the cockpit as his pilot took off her red helmet and leaned back in the seat. He leaned in to help her unstrap. "Hey, good mission, Lieutenant," he remarked.

"Yep, not bad. Chalk up another victory for Ruby Flight!" They shared a grin. Vogelmord had been assigned to Beacon before Vytal Flag, and at first he had been surprised and a little taken aback at the arrival of Ruby Rose. She had not been scheduled for the exercise; Ozpin had approved her not even 24 hours before Vytal Flag had begun. What bothered the burly crew chief wasn't her sudden arrival, but the fact that Ruby was barely above the minimum height requirement to fly the F-16. Every time she took off her helmet, it was like someone had let their little girl fly the plane. It had taken a little getting used to, but now they were a team. Her name was inscripted in red on the canopy frame on the left side; on the right was his. He swung off the ladder and held it as she clambered down. She hesitated, then stepped up to the nose, running her fingers over the nine kill marks painted there. Though the USAF officially frowned on kill marks and supposedly only allowed subdued ones, if that, _Crescent Rose's_ were as red as Ruby's helmet.

They briefly went over a postflight, with the crew chief asking if there were any problems with the aircraft. There weren't, so she signed the form that returned the aircraft formally to Vogelmord's charge—though he would jokingly insist that Ruby only borrowed _Crescent Rose;_ it actually belonged to the crew chief, like a father who loaned out his sportscar to his teenage daughter. She put her helmet in its bag, and walked out of the hardstand to join the other members of Ruby Flight.

They walked towards her, and Ruby took a moment to admire her flightmates. Yang, as usual, was the most animated, her hands flying at each other as she barely held onto her helmet, loudly describing how she'd "killed" Nadir Shiko; Yang was proof that a fighter pilot can't talk if their hands are tied. Her blond hair was even more of a fright wig than usual, plastered to her forehead with sweat, far out of regulation—not that Yang ever cared.

Next to her, Blake listened patiently, helmet under one arm, a faint smile on her lips; her black hair had been let down to brush against her shoulder blades, a black bow tied in her hair. Ruby knew it hid feline ears, disguising the fact that Blake was a Faunus. Ruby wondered why she continued to wear it, since Blake's species was the worst-kept secret at Beacon, but Blake insisted on doing so.

Weiss was last, rolling her eyes good naturedly at Yang's insistence that she had missed Shiko's Mirage by a mere three feet, her white hair pulled up behind her in a tight bun, making her look like her older sister. Once they had changed and showered, Weiss would pull it into the more familiar side bun and long ponytail.

Ruby felt a little misty-eyed. Yang was her sister—technically, half-sister, the daughter of a different mother, but Ruby never cared about the distinction. Blake and Weiss were her best friends. They had known each other not quite a month now, but she knew them as well as Yang now, linked by long weeks of boring classroom learning, exciting aerial training, and even more exciting aerial combat they had been lucky to survive. Occasionally, Ruby still woke up sweating, still seeing the streets of Milwaukee coming up at her when Roman Torchwick had nearly killed her during the Battle of Lake Michigan. Yang, she knew, had her own demons; her sister still hadn't revealed why she had burst into tears a few nights before after the epic Battle of La Crosse, but Weiss had said Yang had nearly been killed by a mysterious blood-red F-22 Raptor. There was something in Blake's past that still haunted her, though the Faunus girl had lost the haunted look she had when she had first arrived. As for Weiss, they all knew that she was not on the best of terms with her family—the Schnees, the wealthiest family in the European Union.

They were Ruby Flight. They were hers to command, to protect, to love.

"Hey, guys!" she greeted them. Yang broke off her story, and—much to Ruby's chagrin—she drew her younger sister into a rib-bending hug. "Hiya, Rubes! Man, we kicked ass today."

"We got lucky," Blake remarked. "Yang, you and I screwed up. We never should've split up like that." She blew out her breath. "I nearly got smoked by a Hunter. My _mother_ flew Hunters."

"Meh!" Yang insisted. "But you didn't. We won, they lost. That simple." Blake shrugged, conceding the point.

Ruby slung her helmet over her shoulder as they resumed walking down the flightline. "I don't know about you guys, but I skipped breakfast. I could eat the ass out of a rag doll."

"Oh yeah?" Yang snickered. "I could eat the ass out of a menstruating skunk!"

Weiss' face screwed up in utter disgust, and Blake turned a little green. "Thanks, Yang," she groaned. "I'm not hungry all of a sudden." A loud growl from her stomach showed that to be a lie, and Blake turned a little red as they all stared at her.

"Hey, you dirty blokes!" They all turned and Ruby was nearly knocked to the ground as she was tackle-hugged by Ruth Lionheart. She pried the Faunus off of her and waved to Emerald Sustrai, who was just behind them. "Hi, Ruth. Hi, Emerald."

"Hey, Em," Yang greeted the other pilot. "How did you do? I understand you were up against Cardinal Flight. Good to see the RAF got you another Jaguar, Ruth."

Emerald was not much taller than Ruby, her tanned skin betraying a lot of time spent in the sun of her native Spain; Ruth made no attempt to disguise her Faunus heritage, with ears that stuck out of her mane of brown hair and a lioness' tail that swished behind her happily as she put her arm around Emerald. She grinned toothily. "Tell 'em, Em," Ruth said. "Tell 'em how we squeeze played those Cardinal cunts." All of Ruby Flight blushed a little at the profanity, but for Ruth, it was fairly commonplace.

"We caught Cardin in a defensive break," Emerald explained. "He dived away from me and right into Ruth's gunsight." She smiled hungrily. "But that was after I popped Sky with a missile shot at the merge. Cinder took out Dove and Russel on her own." Emerald thumbed back towards Mercury Black, who was still postflighting his F-16. He did not bother to wave: after nearly sexually assaulting Weiss at the dance, Mercury had stayed away from Ruby Flight. His performance at La Crosse had lifted his restrictions on base, but that was all. "Merc didn't get anything, and he's _so_ pissed at Cinder."

"Cindah is bloody frightening," Ruth said. "Gor, don't ever give her a F-22. She'd be fuckin' unstoppable."

"Where is she?" Weiss asked. "Since the party after La Crosse, we've barely seen her."

"Cinder's…Cinder," Emerald shrugged. "Not really a social person."

"She's a right stone-cold killer," Ruth told them. "I think she's browned off because her kills haven't been confirmed yet."

"And who's fault is that?" Emerald said. "Aren't you still going over gun camera film? I made ace too, you know."

Ruth sagged. "Yes," she grumped. "Glynda the Good Witch is still roaring at me after what I did in the bar the other night."

Blake laughed. "Before or after you kissed me?"

"Bah, you liked me smacking you, you ginger beer." Blake had spent enough time around Cockneys to know that Ruth was calling her queer, but didn't take offense. "Just because I proposed marriage to Scarlet David? Gad. Why not? He'd be a fine one for a Faunus gel like me."

"He's also gay," Weiss said.

"Not after he's had me, he wouldn't be." Ruth gave an exaggerated sigh. "Ah, well. Guess I'd better get back to the grindstone before Cindah sends a rocket up my arse." She slapped Emerald on the back, stuck her tongue out at Ruby Flight, and jogged down the flight line.

"Who are you selecting for the 2V2?" Emerald asked. The latter half of Vytal Flag had been divided into rounds—flight on flight, then section on section, ending with the classic dogfight of one-on-one—1V1 in fighter pilot parlance. There was no trophy waiting at the end of the exercise, but everyone at Beacon wondered if public demand would result in Ozpin giving one anyway, despite himself. All the flights at the base would go through the rounds.

"Well," Ruby said with weighty self-importance, "I have decided, as the leader of this flight—"

"Bullshit," Yang snorted. "We put it to a vote."

Ruby did not even bat an eye. "As the leader of this flight, I put it to a vote." She put an arm around Yang and Weiss. "In a move that was totally not nepotism, I chose my big sis and my wingman…er, winggirl. Or whatever."

"Disappointed, Blake?" Emerald asked, smiling.

"Not at all. I get to sleep in." She thumbed at Weiss and Yang. "I'll let these two get up at O dark 30 to defend the honor of Ruby Flight." Weiss curtseyed, which looked ridiculous in a flight suit, while Yang smacked her fists together and flexed like a professional wrestler.

Emerald bowed like a bullfighter. "Well, if Mercury and I end up going against you, then we're not holding back. Cinder chose us to represent Creamer Flight."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Yang replied, but they all noted the good-naturedness had gone out of her voice. Yang still held a grudge against Mercury: at the dance, he had called Ruby a whore, besides assaulting Weiss. Yang had threatened to kill him for it. Both were angry, and Mercury drunk, but it took a lot for Yang Xiao Long to forget or forgive an insult.

"We're going to grab some grub, Em," Ruby said, to change the subject. "Want to come with?"

Emerald shook her head. "I might catch up. I better go see what's going on with Merc and Cinder." She waved at them as she turned around. "_Adios."_ She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Ruby Flight had resumed walking down the flightline, then made her way to Mercury. "Hey," he greeted her. He signed his form, and they began walking towards Cinder Fall's F-15.

"Hi," she returned.

"You okay?"

"Tired of this…acting like this." Emerald closed her eyes and sighed. What Ruby Flight did not know—what no one on the base outside of herself, Mercury, and Cinder knew—was that they were not what they appeared to be. They had infiltrated Beacon, they were there to sabotage Vytal Flag, and there was a good chance that they would be called on to kill the very people that Emerald had been chatting so amiably with. Cinder's aloofness was not feigned; it was pure contempt. Mercury didn't care much, either. That left Emerald with pangs of conscience that she knew she shouldn't have. Ruth Lionheart was completely innocent, and was just there to throw any investigators off the track that Creamer Flight was not what it seemed to be. Emerald knew that Ruth was also considered expendable by Cinder and Mercury, and that bothered her. Despite herself, she had gotten fond of the vivacious Faunus.

"Orders are orders," Mercury said, sounding supremely disinterested. "You find out who's going to be in the 2V2?"

"Not quite what we thought."

"Oh?" he asked. "Not the catgirl and the bimbo?"

"Weiss and Yang," Emerald corrected him.

"Suits me. Never liked that Schnee bitch." Mercury extended his stride, and Emerald was glad he did. He wouldn't see the play of emotions on her face.


	2. Hard to Say I'm Sorry

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hoping to stick with the same 3-4 day update schedule I did with "On RWBY Wings," but I figure I'd "prime the pump" a bit with a new chapter today. Plus I had a lot of fun writing the Happy Family Schnee._

_Herrenchiemsee is a real place, one of Ludwig II's three castles/palaces (the others being the better known Linderhof and Neuschwanstein.)_

* * *

_Building 102415 (Base Exchange and Cafeteria)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_8 May 2001_

Like most American military bases, Beacon had a relatively large Base Exchange—BX in USAF language—and like most BXs, Beacon's had a number of small eateries inside. Besides the usual Burger King, Popeye's, and Subway, there was a locally operated place called A Simple Wok. The owner/proprietor was an older Chinese gentleman; none of the pilots knew his real name. He was simply the Shopkeeper. He never corrected the pilots when they called him that; he would just smile and nod.

"Afternoon, Shop," Yang greeted him. He grinned and gave her a small bow. "Bowl of the regular, please."

"Same same," Ruby added. Another grin and bow.

"Ah…do you have anything low salt and low fat?" Weiss asked. She had weighed herself that morning, and found she had gained weight. Not much, far below what the Luftwaffe would consider overweight, but Weiss was sensitive about it. The Shopkeeper threw her an OK sign.

"Fish," Blake said simply. He gave her a thumbs-up.

It took the Shopkeeper about ten minutes. Before each of them he placed a heroic bowl of noodles, topped with Southern fried chicken bits for Yang and Ruby, baked chicken for Weiss, and heaps of tuna for Blake, who openly drooled at the sight. "I got it," Weiss said, and tossed her Schnee GmbH card on the counter. Weiss was paid fairly well as a Luftwaffe Oberleutnant, but when she felt like splurging, she drew on her considerable wealth as the heiress to the SDC.

"Whoa," Ruby teased, "living large, Weiss? Usually you squeeze pfennigs so hard Otto von Bismarck's ears bleed."

"Otto von Bismarck isn't on the pfennig, you dolt," Weiss told her. She was glad it was Ruby who was doing the teasing; Yang probably would've said Hitler. "Think of it as a thank you for voting me into the 2V2 round." She jumped in surprise when the Shopkeeper threw the card back to her. "Declined," he said, his lips barely moving.

"Declined? That's impossible. Run it again." The Shopkeeper did as asked; it was declined again. Weiss stared at her card in disbelief. "This has never happened before. Ever."

"Oh God, _no_," Blake cried. The tuna was so close she could taste it, but the United States Marine Corps frowned on dining and dashing, and she didn't have any money on her. They were still in their flight suits.

Another card slid onto the counter. "Relax, Blake. I'll get it this time." Pyrrha Nikos smiled at the Shopkeeper; her card wasn't declined. She took a seat next to Blake. "Hello again!"

"Pyrrha!" Ruby ran over and hugged her. Ruby was sweaty and needed a shower, but Pyrrha didn't seem to mind. "Hey, Jaune! Hey, Nora! Hey, Ren!" Ruby greeted the rest of Juniper Flight as they arrived.

Ruby was fanatically loyal to her flight, but she would put Juniper right with them. Whereas all but Weiss were Americans in Ruby Flight (Blake was dual citizenship with Menagerie, but Ruby didn't count that), Juniper was diverse: Jaune Arc, the tow-headed leader of the flight, was French; Nora Valkyrie, short and ginger-haired, was an American; her beau, the raven-haired Lie Ren, was Chinese; Pyrrha, with bright red hair, was Greek. Juniper had flown and fought alongside Ruby Flight from the beginning, and all eight were now good friends. Once more, Ruby felt a pang of sorrow: in another two months, the exercise would be over, and everyone would go their separate ways.

Juniper ordered bowls as Ruby dug in. While Weiss daintly broke her chopsticks in half and ate slowly and sparingly, Yang and Ruby eschewed the chopsticks for forks. Blake used chopsticks, but ate as if she had not eaten in weeks. If there was any doubt that she was a cat Faunus, Weiss thought to herself, watching Blake obliterate the bowl of tuna noodles would remove it.

"Who are you up against next?" Weiss asked as Juniper was served.

"Tomorrow. Bronze Flight," Jaune answered. "The all F-16 flight. Chinese, Korean, American and Italian."

"You ready for 'em?" Yang muttered around a mouthful of noodles.

"Hell to the yes!" Nora crowed. "We've got the famous Invincible Girl of Greece—" Pyrrha blushed; she did not particularly like that title "—Ren the ninja—"

"Ninjas are Japanese," Ren corrected her, "I would technically be a lin kuei."

Nora ignored him. "Me, whose A-10 felled a mighty Nevermore—"

"Technically, Ruth Lionheart felled the mighty Nevermore," Weiss said, smiling.

Nora ignored her. "—and Jaune Arc!"

Ren pointed at Jaune with his chopsticks. "Are you going to take that, flight commander?"

Jaune shrugged. His getting command of Juniper Flight had been only because Pyrrha and Ren had refused it. They saw him as leadership material, and despite having already led them in several actual battles, Jaune did not quite believe it himself. "She's not wrong."

"Ah, excuse me?" Ruby said, tossing her fork into her empty bowl. She had finished before all of them; her metabolism was a neverending source of wonder at Beacon. "Jaune is an ace, you know!"

"I'm kidding!" Nora laughed. She gave Jaune a slap on the back, which might have collapsed a lung. "There's no reason to be nervous, Jaune! I mean, it's not like we're on international TV with most of the known world watching us either live or simulcast and if we lose, we'll be shunned and despised by our peers, no one will sit with us at the bar, and Ren and I have no parents and don't have a home we can go to, unlike Ruby and Yang who can become potato farmers down there in Hickville, South Carolina—"

"Patch," Yang said. "And it's in _North_ Carolina."

"Whatever Confederate state! I'm not nervous! Not nervous at all! Ha ha ha!" Nora snapped her chopsticks in half.

Everyone stared at her for a moment, then Ren patted her on the back. "We're ready. After all, at least Bronze Flight won't be trying to _actually_ kill us."

There was a buzzing noise, and Weiss reached into her pocket to withdraw her phone. "You carry your phone with you on a flight?" Jaune asked.

"You never know when you might need it," Weiss replied. She flipped it open and hung up on the caller, then put it on the counter. "There was a time in Serbia three years ago that an American pilot got shot down by GRIMM and was surrounded. He lost his survival radio, so he used his cell to coordinate airstrikes."

"That's a new one," Blake said. She dabbed at her mouth, and sat back, supremely satisfied. Then a stentorian belch worked its way out of her mouth, enough to rattle the dishes and turn heads. "Pardon," she whispered.

"From the belly of the beast," Yang remarked. Blake gave her the finger. Yang's response was interrupted by Weiss' phone buzzing again. This time Ruby saw on the phone's face who was calling. It was an international number, and above it was the word _Vater._ Weiss snapped it open again and hung up again, then shut off the phone entirely.

"Aren't you going to answer it?" Ruby asked. "That was your dad."

"I've nothing to say to him," Weiss hissed. "Besides, if he wants to talk to one of his daughters, Winter should be there by now."

* * *

_Schnee Manor (Herrenchiemsee)_

_Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany_

_8 May 2001_

Oberst Winter Schnee stepped out of the Luftwaffe UH-1D and ducked her head, holding her cap on under the rotors as her boots crunched across the gravel. Once she was clear, she straightened up and returned the salutes of the guards crisply as she made her way past the statue of Parsifal. In one gloved hand she bore a locked folder. She did not walk so much as she strode to the doors of Schnee Manor.

Before the Third World War and the GRIMM Invasion of the 1960s, Schnee Manor had been known as Herrenchiemsee, originally built in the late 19th Century for Ludwig II, the famous "Mad King" of Bavaria, and Bavaria's last monarch. It had been a tourist attraction since Ludwig's death in 1886, but in the chaos that followed the nuclear exchange, it had been abandoned. Nicholas Schnee had bought the place for far less than it was worth, refurbished it once the emergency was past, and turned it into his private residence. He had kept the name Herrenchiemsee, but Jacques—once he had married Willow Schnee and become the head of the Schnee GmbH—insisted on calling it _Schnee Herrenhaus,_ or Schnee Manor. The locals insisted on keeping the old name, but aside from the hired help, they were no longer allowed to visit.

Winter hated Schnee Manor, no matter the name. Ludwig II had the excuse of being insane: his fanatical admiration of King Louis XIV of France had led him to build Herrenchiemsee as a near duplicate of Versailles. It was too large for Ludwig, and it was too large for the Schnees. Winter maintained a small apartment in Bonn, along the Rhine, and was happy for it; she only visited home when she had to.

And she had to.

She walked up the stairs, and was met at the top by Klein Sieben. "_Guten abend,_" he greeted her.

"Hello, Klein." She meant to shake hands with her parents' portly head butler, but instead ended up enfolded in a hug. Winter hesitated, then returned the hug. Klein, after all, had been her rock of strength, growing up in a broken home. He stepped back, holding her hands. "Look at you," he said, smiling. "A full Colonel, now. All this braid and gold! On you it sits well, my lady."

Winter could not resist a smile. "Thank you, Klein."

"Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Only if forced."

Klein's smile became sad. "I understand. I am sorry to hear that. You are here to see Lady Schnee?" The Schnees were no longer ennobled-Germany had done away with nobility after the First World War—but Klein always acted as if they were still the von Schnees that had served the Bavarian royal house for centuries.

"I am," Winter answered simply. Klein ushered her into the house; Winter pulled off her hat and tucked it under her left arm. She felt even more oppressed in here. If the exterior was overstated, the interior was lavish to the point of embarrassing, with soaring columns, gold filigree, and all the trappings of a monarchy long dead. Her boots clacked on the immaculate floor. As they walked, they passed the various butlers, maids, and other servants that served the Schnees, each bowing and curtseying as Winter and Klein walked past. Winter bowed her head slightly as she went past, and found she hated this as well. She had been getting her own coffee and cake; it seemed demeaning to force someone else to do it.

"How is Weiss?" Klein asked. Winter's smile returned. Klein had always doted on the Schnee children, but Weiss was his favorite and always would be. Whereas Winter was rebellious and Whitley indifferent, Weiss was always eager to please and learn.

"She's fine," Winter replied. "I imagine she will be promoted soon, or at the very least decorated. She has done quite well at Vytal Flag. In fact, she has made ace."

"Has she made friends?" Winter's smile broadened. Klein didn't care if Weiss was decorated or promoted; he wanted to make sure she wasn't alone.

"She has. Two Americans and a Faunus girl from Menagerie."

Klein's bushy eyebrows went up. "Your father won't be too happy to hear that."

"I'm sure Weiss could not care less." _Wait until he finds out it's Ghira Belladonna's daughter,_ Winter thought to herself. She did not tell Klein; she was saving that one.

The butler sighed. "I wish this family was not like this."

"But it is, Klein." Winter had long since given up hope of any reconciliation. It was what it was. "Is Mother in her room?"

"She's in your father's study. Lord Schnee is away on business; he should be returning later tonight. Lord Whitley is still at Eton; summer break will not begin for a few weeks." Klein hesitated, then continued. "You should be gone before Lord Schnee gets here."

"Good. I know the way, Klein. I…" Winter took a breath. "I would prefer we not be disturbed. Or for you to hear what I have to say to Mother."

Klein nodded sadly. "It will be as you say." They hugged each other again. Winter once more paused before moving away. "Has she been drinking, Klein?"

"Yes. But she is not drunk. Not yet."

Winter gave him a short nod, then walked towards her father's study. Along the way, she walked through the Hall of Mirrors. This was one of the few places in the palace that held good memories; the long hallway had been where she, Weiss and Whitley had raced their little cars as children. When it was freshly polished, it was slick, and they had all "skated" down the hall in their socks many times, much to their father's chagrin and their mother's amusement. That was when they were still maintaining at least a façade of being a happy family. Winter caught her reflection in the mirrors as she strode down the hall. She was not afraid to admit to herself that she was a rather attractive woman, still on the wild side of thirty, her white hair piled up in a bun and combed out over her right eye, her one concession to individuality. The Luftwaffe dress uniform looked quite fetching as well.

Then she was out of the hall, and her smile faded as she took the stairs to her father's study.

* * *

Jacques Schnee's study was large, like every other room in the house, and richly paneled in wood, softly lit, one of the few rooms in the house to not retain its original look. Its walls were lined with shelves of books; Jacques was a voracious reader if nothing else. Behind the large mahogany desk were paintings of the Alps, and in the center, one of a young Jacques Schnee, a classically rendered painting of a handsome, rakish young man in a white business suit and scarf. Winter often wondered what her father had been like in his youth—if he had always been ambitious and power-hungry, or something had turned him into that.

The room had the faint, pleasant scent of peppermint, but Winter soured when she saw what was causing the smell: on the desk was an opened bottle of peppermint schnapps. She heard the toilet to the adjoining bathroom flush, the sound of running water, and then Willow Schnee walked into the study. She started in surprise on seeing Winter. "Oh! You're here early."

Winter said nothing for a moment. Willow Schnee looked remarkably well for a woman turning fifty; Winter thought that her mother probably still wore the same size she had at thirty. Her face was still attractive, still showed the faint hints of the fashion model she had once been, her white hair tied into a short ponytail draped over her left shoulder, but Winter noticed the strands of gray beginning to creep into the hair, and the worn look on the face. And the bloodshot blue eyes that betrayed too much drink. Finally she answered. "I am right on time, Mother."

Willow checked the ornate clock. "So you are. I apologize. Would you like a seat?" Winter remained standing, and Willow sighed. "No, I suppose not." She leaned against her husband's desk. "I know better than to ask how you are doing, and other pleasantries. You've never been much for that."

"No." Willow set her hat on the small table below the desk, walked forward, unclasped the folder, and put several documents on the desk—the information Weiss had obtained, that showed Schnee GmbH had been funneling money to the White Fang for years, through dummy companies around the world. The revelation had rocked both sisters to their core: their father was paying off a terrorist organization, one that wanted the Schnees very dead. "Read this. The summary is at the top."

Willow poured a small amount of schnapps into a glass, then picked up the summary. Winter waited in silence as her mother read the document. Halfway through, she reached out, grabbed the bottle, and drank straight from it. Then she set down both the bottle and the document, staggered over to the chair behind the desk, and collapsed into it.

"Aren't you going to look at the other documents? The proof?" Winter asked.

"No."

"No," Winter repeated. "Because you already knew, didn't you?" After some moments of silence, Willow nodded. "You _knew_ Father was paying off the White Fang." Winter fought for control of herself. She wanted to reach across the desk, grab her mother by the ruffled collar, and haul her to her feet. "The very people who have been trying to kill us for the past eight or so years, the ones who made it so Weiss and Whitley had to have armed security just to go to school, the ones who kept me restricted to base for over a year for fear of my safety." Winter's fists clenched, the leather gloves audibly cracking. "And it didn't even work! The White Fang are _still _after us!"

"Your father didn't do it," Willow said softly.

"I have evidence. Or rather, Weiss does. She was the one who gathered it, Mother. Don't sit there and tell me—"

Willow suddenly shot out of the chair so fast that Winter took an involuntary step backwards. "Your father didn't do it because _I_ did it, Winter! It was _me!"_

"Why, in the name of God?" Winter exclaimed.

"Because I was trying to _protect you!"_ Willow shouted, slamming a fist down on the desk so hard the schnapps jumped. "All I've ever done is try to protect you!" Tears ran down her face, spoiling the makeup. She could not look at Winter, and hung her head, hands spread on the desk. "That's all I've ever wanted for my children…"

Winter did not even attempt to hide her shock. "Mother, I don't…I don't understand."

Willow reached out, snatched up the bottle of schnapps, and turned it up until it was gone. She slammed the bottle down hard enough to crack it. "No, you don't. I thought that, if the White Fang were given enough money, they would leave us alone. I knew they might still attack the DUST shipments, but I didn't care about that. I knew they would attack the Americans, but I don't care about them, either. All I care about is you, and Weiss, and Whitley." She wiped at her tears, smearing her mascara. "And it's worked, Winter. They haven't attacked us. They haven't moved against Whitley at Eton. As long as the money keeps flowing, Sienna Khan will leave us alone."

"But she'll kill hundreds of others."

Willow gave a tired shrug. "I don't know them, Winter. I don't love them. I love you." She fell back into the chair. "You don't know how proud I am, seeing you in that uniform. Or how proud I am of Weiss. I can't show that, because your father disapproves. But I am." She smiled. "I heard Weiss is now an _experten,_ like her great-uncle was." _Experten_ was the term Germans used for aces.

"But how did you know that?" Winter asked. "It hasn't been confirmed or formally announced—" Her eyes widened. "Jung Freud. Weiss' crew chief. She works for _you,_ Mother."

"Yes. It was my idea to sabotage Weiss' aircraft. Your father approved, because he wants her back here. But I just wanted to protect her. I was wrong. I see that now." Willow leaned against the desk, cradling her head in her hands. "You don't have children, Winter. You don't understand what it means to have a life inside you for nine months, to cradle an infant in your arms. I nursed you, Winter. Both you and Weiss, because I didn't want to hand you off to some stranger of a wet nurse. I wanted to nurse Whitley, but Jacques wouldn't have it; he said it was demeaning for a boy. You were…all so small…" Willow began to cry again. "If you were a mother, Winter, you would do anything for your children. Suffer any indignity, pay any price, bear any burden. For your children."

Winter was silent, unsure of what to say. After long minutes, during which the only sound was her mother sobbing, Winter finally spoke. "Will you stop the payments?"

Willow took a deep, shuddering breath. "No. I have to protect Whitley, Winter. You can't protect him. The British can't protect him, even under an assumed name. The White Fang will find him. They'll kill him."

"The White Fang are broken," Winter argued. "We've killed most of them."

Willow laughed harshly. "They are like a hydra, Winter. For every one you kill, three more will appear. The Faunus want us dead." She stared over Winter's shoulder, who knew what her mother was looking at: behind her was a portrait of Nicholas Schnee. "And maybe they have a right to."

"You and I didn't create the Faunus, Mother. We didn't enslave them."

"The sins of the fathers will always visit their children, Winter. We learned that after the war." For the Germans, _the war_ would always be World War II. Even the nuclear horrors of World War III paled in comparison to the war that came before, and the twelve million murdered in the Holocaust, a shame that Germany would never live down. Willow finally faced her daughter. "I will not end the payments, Winter. I can't."

"Does Father know?"

"No. I've made certain of that."

"What if I went public? Released this—" Winter motioned to the documents "—to the press?"

"Then you will destroy all of us. Destroy your father—I know that you wouldn't mind doing that." Willow chuckled sadly. "Destroy me—perhaps you'd like to do that too, and you may be correct to do so. But you won't destroy Weiss or Whitley, Winter. I know you won't."

"And in the meantime, how many die to save us?"

Willow said nothing.

Winter took a step forward, pushed the papers towards her mother. "I'll let you figure out what to do with those, Mother. Did you know that Weiss has befriended a Faunus?"

"Yes," Willow answered.

"Did you know that it's Ghira Belladonna's daughter?" The shock on her mother's face answered that question for Winter. "If my sister and your daughter can become friends with the founder of the White Fang, then perhaps the answer isn't paying off the White Fang. It's fighting those who try to kill us and make peace with those who don't." She picked up her hat and tucked it under her arm. "But you've never been much of a fighter." Winter held up the empty bottle of schnapps, and tossed it in the wastebasket. With one last, pitying look at her mother, she turned on one heel and strode towards the door.

"Winter!" She turned to look back at Willow. "I love you, Winter," her mother said tearfully.

Winter turned away. "I love you too, Mother," she whispered, and left the study before her tears could come.

* * *

Winter did not see Klein on the way out, and was glad of it. She was even happier to leave Schnee Manor, putting her hat on just right. Then she noticed another helicopter parked next to hers, decorated with the blue snowflake of Schnee GmbH, and her father walking towards her. Winter composed herself: there was no way to avoid her father, so they would meet.

Jacques Schnee was still trim and handsome, even if his mustache and hair was now completely gray. His suit was Italian, well-cut, and cost more than Winter made in a year, even on a Colonel's salary. He stopped as she walked up to him. "Winter," he said by way of greeting.

"Father." Winter was often tempted to call him by his first name, just to anger him, but a childhood of obedience was too hard to shake.

"What brings you here?"

"I needed to talk to Mother."

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow. "What about?"

"Ask her."

"You look well in that uniform," Jacques stated. There was no warmth in the voice, but the undercurret of disapproval. "I should think Ironwood would have made you a general by now."

"Thank you. You're looking well also, Father." Then Winter could no longer resist. She pointed at his tie. "I see you're still wearing clip-on ties, Father. Don't you trust Mother to tie them for you anymore?" Jacques flushed red. It was a sensitive issue between them: Jacques Schnee might be the richest man in Europe, perhaps the most powerful, but he could not tie a tie.

Winter decided to leave him there, spluttering, but Jacques was not quite done with his eldest. As she moved past him, he asked, "Will you be going back to Beacon?"

"Yes. I am General Ironwood's liaison, after all."

"Excellent! Then would you mind passing on a message to Weiss, since she's not answering my calls?" Before she could agree, he continued. "She's no longer heir to Schnee GmbH. I have decided to transfer it to Whitley. After he is done at Eton, he will return home to finish his education here."

_And be trapped here,_ Winter thought. She faced her father. "So what does Weiss have to do to become heiress again? Where does she have to crawl?"

Jacques smirked, and would never know how close he came to being punched by his own daughter. "Quite simple, Winter. She needs to give up this ridiculous notion of following in your footsteps. Oh, she can remain in the Luftwaffe, but she's made her point. Now she needs to come home. Before she gets killed in Ironwood's or Ozpin's damned fool crusade."

"And stop palling around with Faunus?" Winter said.

"That would be a step in the right direction, yes."

Winter thought about mentioning Blake Belladonna, but decided against it. Jacques could make trouble for Blake's parents. "I'll pass on the message, Father, but I already know what her response will be." Without waiting for her father, she continued. "She would say, 'Fuck you.'" Winter said it in English. It sounded a bit harsher and more delicious in that language.

"I've already cut off her funds," Jacques responded. It sounded weak.

"I'm sure she'll learn to live on an Oberleutnant's salary," Winter remarked. "I did." She turned her back on her father and walked towards her helicopter.

"Winter!" her father shouted. "You are still my daughter! You will show me respect. I am your father!"

_I am no longer your daughter,_ she thought. Winter turned, snapped to parade-ground attention, and saluted with the sharpness of a recruit. "_Jawohl, Herr Schnee."_ She held the stance and salute until Jacques, shaking his head, turned away.


	3. Bad Moon Rising

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry about the delay-technical difficulties. Somewhat short chapter, but setting up for the future. _

* * *

_Building 103115 (Photo Lab)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_9 May 2001_

Ruth Lionheart yawned, an act that people who did not know her well would find terrifying. She would extend her tongue and expose pointed teeth. She smacked her lips loudly, took a drink of coffee—tea she found to be too weak to keep her awake—rubbed her eyes, and went back to work.

Normally, Ruth would find this work to be exciting. Gun camera films were often that: activated when the pilot pressed the trigger, all aircraft had a small camera that showed where the bullets or missiles went. This was to prevent anyone making victory claims they had no right to make, as well as gain valuable information about the enemy. Sometimes they were exciting, recording for posterity an epic air battle, and sometimes they were boring—a split-second of an enemy aircraft shortly before it exploded. Either way, even the most avid military historian would get bored after the twentieth repetition.

Nowadays, instead of wet film, gun cameras recorded everything on the aircraft's computer, which could then be downloaded and viewed digitally, though some older aircraft still used VHS tapes. Ruth counted herself lucky she didn't need to use that. Normally, a team of enlisted men would go over the gun camera to determine who shot down whom, but Lieutenant Colonel Glynda Goodwitch had been so disgusted over Ruth Lionheart's debauchery in the club that she put Ruth in charge, in top of her other duties. Ruth didn't know what the big deal was—so she had kissed everyone in the club, including the Lieutenant Colonel; she was affectionate! Scarlet David was amused rather than offended that she had offered to marry him. Of course, there was her proclaiming loudly in gruesome sexual detail what she intended to do to Scarlet when they were married, and offering to prove that Faunus were anatomically no different than humans. _Goodwitch didn't get upset when Yang and Nora showed their bras,_ Ruth thought grumpily to herself. _And Em tried to kiss Cinder!_

_Oh well,_ Ruth decided. Complaining wasn't going to get this done any faster. She would review each kill at least three times, then hand it off to the enlisted men for processing and release to the public. Once all that was done, the pilots would be formally notified of their new status. Not that the process made much difference, since kill marks had already been painted on aircraft. Ruth knew it was more or less a formality.

Ruth yawned again, then brought up the file labeled _Fall Cinder Maj USAF F-15C_, which held Cinder's downloaded gun camera films. She had been kidding with Ruby Flight and Emerald; Cinder actually had not said a thing about the gun camera, and didn't seem to care that she had made ace. Her F-15's nose only had kill marks because the crew chief insisted on it. It was more Goodwitch who was riding her to quit fooling around and get it done.

She clicked on _play_ and leaned back in her chair. There were the GRIMM kills Cinder had gotten west of La Crosse, in full color, and they were boring. It was all missile shots and Beowolves and Ursai being blown to pieces; nothing remotely interesting. _At least Nora had some interesting film, and Weiss' was pretty fun. _She settled deeper into her chair, lamenting to herself that it was a good thing there were plenty of witnesses to her half-kill of the Nevermore, since her gun camera film had burned up with her Jaguar. _I really need to adjust the seat in my new one,_ she mused._ Sure was nice for the RAF to get me a new one so quick…guess they could've given me a bloody Harrier or something, though I would love to get me paws on a Typhoon—_

Ruth suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair and hit pause. She stared at the image in the screen, then reversed it, then restarted it again. "That can't be right," she said quietly. She watched it three more times, then a fourth just to make sure. "What the actual fuck…" Quickly, Ruth printed stills from the gun camera shots, then closed the file. She threw the stills into a folder and grabbed her hat.

One of the airmen assigned to the photo lab looked up as she dashed through the front door. "Ma'am?"

"Don't wait up!" Ruth yelled back. "Got to run an errand!"

* * *

Cinder Fall and Mercury Black were just entering the Visiting Officers' Quarters when Ruth caught up to them. "Hello, Ruth," Cinder greeted her. "How are you?"

"Not good," Ruth replied. "We've got a spot of Barney Rubble."

"What?" Mercury asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Not here." Ruth motioned them inside, and they all went to Cinder's room. She opened the folder and spread out the stills. "What's this, then?"

Cinder picked them up. In the luminous gunsight of a F-15 was a shot of a Panavia Tornado F.3. The stills showed cannon shells marching the length of the aircraft from just behind the rear cockpit to the twin engines, then fire spurting from holed fuel tanks and smoke from shattered engines. The last still showed the Tornado in a terminal dive, burning from the cockpit back. "Isn't that Fox and Velvet's Tornado?"

"Yep," Ruth said, staring at Cinder. "And these were from _your_ gun camera films, Cindah."

Cinder hesitated, then sat down on the bed in shock. "They…they can't be."

Mercury stood at parade rest, his hands behind his back. "Ruth, you're crazy. Cinder didn't shoot down Fox and Velvet."

"Don't take the piss, Mercury!" Ruth snapped. "That's what it shows!"

Cinder was shaking her head, her raven hair falling over her left eye more than usual. "But…that can't be right. I didn't shoot them down. I couldn't have."

"It's your gun camera film," Ruth insisted.

"You sure it's not yours and you're just trying to shift the blame?" Mercury said.

"Oh, fuck off, Merc. I was either with Nora and Yatsu or getting me arse shot off by a Nevermore."

"Then you doctored them—"

"Mercury, enough." Cinder waved him to silence, then returned her attention to the Faunus. "Ruth, I swear to God I didn't do this. Are you absolutely certain it was me?"

"Yes." Ruth took a breath. "Cindah, look. There's been a lot of weird things happening since we got here. Merc, you trying on Weiss for a tidy at the dance—you claimed you were pissed, but you were sober. Em's been acting all strange since La Crosse, like she's hiding something from alla us; you chundering in the bushes after you disappeared from the dance, Cindah…"

"What are you saying, Ruth?" Cinder asked. Mercury took a step forward.

"You've been leaving me out. I don't really feel like I'm a part of this flight. Like you all just tolerate me. I get that me accent is enough to make someone go daft, and I'm a furry Faunus, and I've got a north and south on me that needs closing." At their expressions, Ruth translated, "I've got a mouth that I can't keep shut. And now this." She motioned at the gun camera films.

Cinder reached out and put her hands on Ruth's shoulders. "Ruth, I'm sorry. I can't speak for Mercury or Emerald, but I have _never_ wanted you to feel left out. I imagine it's hard being the only Faunus in a flight of humans. And I know you lost your mother in that awful accident with the Red Arrows not long ago." She looked at her boots. "I'm not exactly the most personable person in the world, I'll admit. But you can't think I would shoot down Fox and Velvet. I wouldn't."

"But you did." Ruth didn't sound entirely convinced of it now.

"I don't know what happened…maybe in the heat of battle…" Cinder put a hand on her forehead. "My God, maybe I did. It was so confused up there. They could've crossed my three-nine line, just saw a shadow—" she referred to the line from three o'clock to nine o'clock on the imaginary clock face that fighter pilots used for direction "—and I just opened fire." She checked the timestamp. "Four seconds…yes, that has to be it." Cinder looked horrified. "Oh my God. Friendly fire. I shot them down."

Ruth picked up the stills. Blue-on-blue friendly fire incidents were uncommon in modern air combat, but far from unknown. The stress of air combat, the confused nature of the La Crosse battle, the feeling of GRIMM everywhere, the final run on the last Nevermore. _It could've happened,_ Ruth thought to herself. She weighed the stills in her hands. _I'm supposed to tell Ozpin. But it could've happened to anyone. _"I can't," she said quietly.

"Can't what?" Mercury asked.

"I can't tell anyone. It would ruin your career, Cindah."

Cinder shook her head. "You have to, Ruth. There has to be an investigation."

"No." Ruth gathered up the stills back into the folder. "Cindah, I'll delete the file. Besides, how would Fox and Velvet feel? To get gunned down by their own side. 'Least this way, they think it was the bloody GRIMM. Besides, no one got cacked, so it's fine, yeah?"

Cinder chewed her bottom lip. "That's true, but still…"

"Nah. I'll burn these. Creamer Flight's little secret." She turned to Mercury. "You solid with this, Merc?"

He hesitated for a moment, hands still behind his back. "Yeah. I'm cool with it. I won't tell a soul, Ruth."

"That's a lad." Ruth was taken aback when Cinder hugged her. "Steady on, Cindah!"

"Ruth, I am so sorry you felt this way. I will make it up to you, I promise." Cinder stepped back and fixed her hair.

"That's fine, then." Ruth grinned at them. "Better get back to the lab, then. Your other kills check out, Cindah. You have seven. Merc, you have four." She threw them a salute and went to the door. "Check you later!"

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind Ruth, Mercury let out a breath and brought his hands out from behind his back. In one hand was twisted the power cord for Cinder's television. "Thought I was going to have to choke that bitch." He turned to Cinder, his voice just above a whisper. "Cinder, she knows. She's going to tell Ozpin. We have to kill her."

Cinder sat on the bed. Her entire expression had changed from terrified confusion to cold calculation with the skill of an actress. "No, we don't. She's not telling anyone."

"You think she actually bought your bullshit?"

Cinder stared at him. "Yes, I do. Because Ruth sees what she wants to. That's how we've gotten this far, Mercury! People want to believe what they do, even when the truth is right in their idiot faces. As far as she knows, I accidentally gunned down Fox and Velvet in the heat of battle. She doesn't think I did it deliberately." She snorted. "I should've led them another half-second, then I would've put the damn shells through their heads." Then Cinder shrugged. "Though I guess I'm the biggest idiot here, since I forgot about the gun camera. It's not like I've had to pay attention to it in years."

"I don't think we can take the chance," Mercury insisted.

Cinder got to her feet and advanced on him. "And what were you going to do, Mercury? Strangle her with that TV cord? That would completely blow the mission, you fucking moron! How would we explain a dead, strangled Faunus in my bedroom? We were having weird sex and she hanged herself?" She stabbed him in the chest with a finger. "Use your head, Mercury. If she does go to Ozpin, I'll claim the same thing—it was an accident. What are they going to do—give me a letter of reprimand, like you? I doubt they'd even do that. Not with everyone wetting themselves over Vytal Flag right now. Friendly fire. That's all it was."

"So you really think Ruth will destroy the evidence?"

Cinder laughed. "Of course she will. She wants to be our friend, you dumbass. She wants to please people, just like her idiot father." She waved it off and lay down on the bed. "Don't worry about it. Ruth is no threat. In fact, we can work this to our advantage."

"If you say so."

Cinder puffed up her pillows. "I do. And I'll remind you who's in command here, Mercury. Now plug the TV back in. I want to watch Juniper fight Bronze. If we're going to still pull this off, we need to know who's vulnerable."


	4. Reel Around the Sun

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Time for some more air combat, and the introductions to Indigo and Bronze Flight. Whew, RWBY has a lot of characters. Hard matching these people up to aircraft. Also, my search history includes a lot of "foreign cuss words."_

_Please leave a review if you liked the story. We authors really love reviews; it tells us more if people like the story than a simple hit on the traffic graph. Speaking of which, I seem to be getting less hits on this story...I wonder if people aren't aware that the story has "moved" to a second chapter._

* * *

_Yooper Air Combat Range_

_Upper Michigan Peninsula, United States of Canada_

_9 May 2001_

Jaune Arc felt his heart hammering in his chest as the Range Controller called "Fight's on!" It wasn't a real fight, and barring flying himself into the ground or a midair collision, he wasn't going to actually die in it, but it scared him for some reason. He wasn't sure why—it might be he had time to think over and plan this fight out, whereas the fight over La Crosse had happened so quickly he _hadn't_ had time to think about it.

Still, it wasn't a bad plan. Off his right wing was Pyrrha Nikos' F-16, close enough that they would appear as one blip on Bronze Flight's radars. Well below them and to Jaune's left was Lie Ren's J-10 and Nora Valkyrie's A-10. Ren was setting himself up as bait, luring Bronze low, ceding the altitude advantage to Jaune and Pyrrha; if they got too low, in the weeds, that was where Nora ruled supreme. For this operation, the hard deck was waived: the hard deck was the ground. It added danger to the hop, but Goodwitch had informed them icily that it wasn't for the benefit of the camera: as they knew from actual combat, there was no artificial hard deck in real life.

Jaune tapped himself on the side of the helmet. He needed to get into the game. He glanced down at his radar scope. "Juniper, Jaune, I have three bandits in wall, bearing 094, angels 15, speed 500." _Only three,_ he thought, _there's another one out there somewhere._ It was a classic fighter tactic: put three or four aircraft out front, leaving a trailer far to the rear or swinging out to one side, to catch the attacker unaware. "Ren, Nora: there's one more out there somewhere." Unlike the knife fight in a phone booth of Ruby versus Auburn with guns and heatseekers only, this battle included radar shots. "Pyr, let's take the guys on the right." He swung his Mirage out a little, locking onto the middle F-16. Since Bronze flew nothing but F-16s, at least he didn't have to wonder what he was facing.

"Pyrrha locked on rightmost bandit." Her radar was slightly superior to Jaune's.

"Jaune locked on. Fox Two!" He pressed the trigger. Were it real, of course, a missile would have shot off the rail and been on its way towards the target. Instead, the data pod that sat on the underwing rail transmitted a computer signal back to the computer at Beacon, that would then compute whether or not the "missile" hit. Pyrrha followed with her shot a second later. Jaune stayed with Pyrrha, waiting for Range Control, dividing his attention between the sky, his Heads-Up Display, and his radar.

Then his radar went berserk. The three bandits suddenly broke formation, crisscrossing each other and dropping chaff, which blanked out his radar, but not before Jaune noticed the rightmost target was going low. There was no call from Range Control, so Jaune knew his shot and Pyrrha's had been scored as a miss. "Ren, Jaune, watch it, one at your twelve o'clock high!"

"Pyrrha, tally-ho, two Vipers, eleven o'clock level!" Jaune saw the two F-16s curving towards them. "I'm spiked!"

"Break now, Pyrrha!" Jaune slammed the stick to the left as Pyrrha went right; there was no point in the close formation, now that Bronze Flight could see them.

Pyrrha involuntarily grunted as the G-suit squeezed her in the hard right break, then immediately reversed her turn. The screaming tone of a missile lock stopped, which meant she had broken the lock. As she rolled back into the merge, she heard "Brawnz, Fox Two on Pyrrha!"

"_Skata,"_ she murmured as she rolled and dived, popping flares. Another miss, but now the South Korean's F-16 was following her into the dive.

* * *

"Ren, Fox Two." The range had closed too fast for radar shots, and Ren had quickly shifted to his simulated Sidewinders. He accelerated, popping flares as he heard Nolan Porfirio, the Italian, also call out a Sidewinder shot. Both missed, and Ren went through the smoke of Nolan's flares as he broke left. He strained against the Gs to keep the F-16 in sight, cheating the turn tighter even as the Italian did the same, ending up in a circle over the forested hills of the Upper Peninsula.

"Nora, Fox Two!"

Nolan's F-16 suddenly made a hard break and climb, more flares in its wake. He had been watching Ren so intently that he hadn't noticed Nora's A-10 waiting in ambush below him. Ren saw the A-10 fly past; she didn't bother trying to follow the F-16 into the climb, leaving him for Ren. Nolan's F-16 was an ADF model, identical to Ruby's _Crescent Rose,_ and couldn't quite match the engine power of the J-10. Ren began tracking for a rather easy Sidewinder kill.

* * *

Jaune, who had evaded a shot from Roy Stallion, the American, climbed and rolled out, trying to find Roy, who was there and gone in a flash. He spotted the F-16 climbing to meet him, but as Jaune turned into Roy, he caught a glint of sun off a canopy to his five o'clock low. "Ren!" he shouted. "Check six! Viper at your six!"

Ren instantly craned his head behind him, but too late, he realized that he himself was a target, and that Nolan had been dragging him. "_Jian nu ren!"_ he cursed, because the next call was "May, Fox Three!"

Ren threw the J-10 into a flurry of dodges, breaking the lock, but as he rolled left, there was another call: "Nolan, Fox Two on Ren!" Once more, Ren tried to break, but this time he was a fraction too late.

"Ren is a mort," Range Control called out.

* * *

"Shit!" Nora shouted, as she watched Ren's J-10 level out and fly to the east; she knew him well enough that she could tell Ren was pissed, just by the way he flew. Then her own radar warning reciever went off, as the Italian F-16 dived on her, intent on collecting two scalps from Juniper. Nora put the nose down on the A-10, knowing she had no chance whatsoever of outrunning the F-16, but also knowing that Nolan was getting down into her territory. She listened for the tone of a lock-on. "Come on, come on," she chanted, dividing her attention between the ground—which was getting very close—and the mirrors set into the Warthog's canopy frame. Nolan wasn't stupid: he had pulled up and was letting her get into his gunsight, knowing that she was trapped between the forest and the Viper. Nora only grinned; school wasn't over yet.

The tone went solid, telling her she was locked. As Nolan got out "Nolan, Fox—" Nora stomped the left rudder and slammed the stick into her left knee hard enough to leave a bruise. At low level, the archaic straight wing of the A-10 was actually an advantage, and nothing could turn with it. _Magnhild_ skidded, engines roaring, and Nolan suddenly found himself staring down the seven barrels of the A-10's GAU-8 Avenger. "Nora, guns, guns, guns on Nolan!" The Italian had been so stunned by the sudden turn that he hesitated a second too long.

"Range Control. Nolan is a mort."

"That's right, _boiiiiie!"_ Nora sang out as she flew past the F-16. Nolan sighed and turned to follow Ren out of the exercise area, very glad that it was simulated.

* * *

Jaune cursed as he evaded another simulated missile shot. Roy Stallion was all over him, and worse, was herding him towards the hills, to try and trap him against the terrain. Jaune took a chance, firewalled the throttle and climbed, holding the climb for a long three seconds, then breaking off the climb and leveling off upside down. The American was slow to follow, giving Jaune a precious second or two to breathe. "Pyrrha, Jaune, scratch my back and I'll scratch yours!"

"Roger," she replied, puffing. Brawnz Ni might have a weird name, but she had learned he was also a very good pilot, aggressive and not giving her a second. Still, she could use that. She acclerated and climbed, then turned so Jaune could drop in.

Yet Bronze Flight was not playing by Jaune's rules. As he climbed towards Jaune, Roy suddenly broke off and dived, rolling out behind Pyrrha, who now had two F-16s on her tail; Jaune was out of position, and knew it. So did Brawnz and Roy.

Pyrrha saw the two F-16s in her peripheral vision. "Hmm," was the only reaction she gave, and then proved why she was called the Invincible Girl of Greece. Even more than before, she became a part of her own F-16 as if she was a weapon system built into it, feet constantly moving on the rudder pedals, hands on the throttle and stick lightly. She would dart in and out of her opponents' gunsights, never long enough for a good shot, always forcing them into near-impossible 90-degree deflection shots, then reversing into them, then climbing and diving. May Zedong, who was trying to angle for her specialty—the long-range missile shot—was screaming at Brawnz and Roy to clear so she could take the shot, but neither did, and not entirely because they wanted to be the one to get Pyrrha; it was also the fear that breaking off would make them a target. Both Brawnz and Roy made the cardinal sin of a fighter pilot: they lost situational awareness, too intent on their opponent.

And it nearly cost them their lives. "Brawnz, Roy!" May shouted. "Watch it!"

"Bronze, you're going to collide!" Jaune screamed.

At the last moment, Roy realized he was able to slide directly into Brawnz. "Jesus!" he yelled, and snapped upwards into a climb. Brawnz said something similar in Korean and dived; the two F-16s' tails missed each other by two feet, and Brawnz felt the F-16 shudder as it hit the jetwash of his wingman.

Jaune let out a breath in relief. Pyrrha, in the zone, never hesitated. She went into a shallow climb, settled her gunsight on Roy's glowing afterburner, and calmly called out, "Pyrrha, Fox Two on Roy."

May slammed her throttle forward in rage. She had been going slow, nearly at approach speed, trying to get her long-range shot. _"Sha bi!"_ she screamed, locking onto Pyrrha, who was low on airspeed.

"Nora, guns on May!" May swung around in her cockpit, then began cursing herself. Sitting behind her F-16 as if it was a nice, sunny approach into Beacon, was Nora's A-10. She had crept up behind the F-16.

"Range Control. Vytal Flag, knock it off, knock it off." The range controller realized that the combat was getting a little too personal, a little too dangerous. Blood was up, and both sides were forgetting it was a simulation. "May is a mort. Juniper wins. All Vytal aircraft, RTB."

Jaune, who had remembered Blake Belladonna's words from a month ago—_lie, cheat and steal in the cockpit; leave honor at home with your dress blues—_had been tracking for an easy missile shot on Brawnz, but was happy to break it off. He joined up on Brawnz instead. "Brawnz, Jaune. You okay?"

"Yes," Brawnz replied, breathing heavy. "Thank you." He cursed, but Jaune realized that, like May, he was cursing himself for losing focus, not Jaune. "Congrats, Juniper. Good fight."

"Just glad you're all right." Jaune waggled his wings, then went to rejoin Pyrrha and Nora.

* * *

Jaune caught up with Pyrrha as she walked down the flightline. "Hey," he greeted.

"Hello," she smiled.

"You all right?"

_Good question,_ Pyrrha thought to herself. It wasn't the fact that the exercise had nearly ended in disaster—it was hardly her fault that Brawnz Ni and Roy Stallion had forgotten to keep an eye on each other in their eagerness to get her—it was the fact that she had automatically put herself into position to "kill" Roy without even thinking. Of course, that was one of the reasons why she was such a superb fighter pilot, that she could do those actions below conscious thought, getting in front of her opponents mentally before they could even process the situation. It didn't help how she felt, though. Not for the first time, Pyrrha wondered if it was time to call it quits and leave the service. She was already leaving Greece.

They stopped by Nora's A-10, where she was gleefully recounting the battle to Ren and Sun Wukong. Nora was very happy, having gotten two kills over far superior opponents. The fact that the battle wasn't real didn't take away from her happiness.

Neptune Vasillas walked up to them. He was in flight gear as well. "Afternoon, Jaune—Pyrrha."

"Good afternoon," Pyrrha replied. "You're up next, are you not?"

"Yeah."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic," Jaune observed. Neptune sounded like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"We're slated to fight over Lake Michigan," Neptune said.

"And?"

"I don't like the water."

Pyrrha was taken aback. "But you're in the Navy!"

Neptune shrugged. "Let me rephrase that. I don't mind the water. I'm just afraid of drowning. Or freezing to death. It's why I never learned to swim. Figured I'd just go down like a rock and get it over with." He raised his right hand and saw it was shaking. "Dammit. Knew I should've joined the Air Force."

Jaune looked past him. "Whoa. Is that Indigo Flight?"

Neptune immediately brightened. "Yep. That's who we're up against." He pointed them out to Jaune. "Nebula Violette from your neck of the woods, Jaune; Dew Gayl from Israel, Gwen Darcy of the RAF, and Octavia Ember from the Royal Jordanian Air Force." He smiled at them as they walked past. "Ladies," he bowed.

They studiously ignored him, but then Gwen stopped. Her eyes got big, and she shyly waved. Neptune waved back, grinning, and then realized who was standing behind him. Sun was also grinning at Gwen, and as usual, his flight suit was unzipped to his navel, his survival vest open and G-suit slung over his shoulder. And as usual, his impressive abdominal muscles and pectorals were on gleaming display. Even Pyrrha could not help but glance at him, and hurriedly looked away before Jaune noticed. Gwen continued to wave and drool when Octavia sighed, walked back, and began dragging her along.

"You're a dick," Neptune murmured to Sun, who kept waving at the girls, all of whom kept looking back at him.

"Psychological warfare," Sun said through his grin. "Now when they fight us, all they'll think about is my abs."

Scarlet David and Sage Ayana came up to them. "Yo," Scarlet called out. "We flying or flirting?"

"You're just jealous," Sun told him. Scarlet rolled his eyes. Sun turned to Pyrrha. "Good luck kiss, Pyr?"

She leaned over—she wasn't much shorter than him—and kissed his cheek. "Good luck, Sun." He used his tail to gently slap her rear, then walked towards his Ching Kuo. Jaune pretended he wasn't jealous.

"Whoa," Nora said as she came up to the knot of pilots with Ren, "you getting flirty with Sun?"

"Not at all," Pyrrha said. "He's not my type." She threw Jaune a quick, shy glance, which he caught. It instantly made him feel better.


	5. One Bad Stud

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Somewhat short chapter this time around; I'll make it up with a longer one next time._

_The French Aeronavale really was still using F-8s in 2001._

* * *

Ruby got to the flightline as Sun Flight taxied past. She threw Sun a wave, and watched in satisfaction as the FCK-1 went past, followed by Neptune's F-18, Scarlet's Lavi, and Sage's F-104. That wasn't what she was here for, however. That came when it was Indigo's turn. Ruby's reaction to the sight of Nebula's F-8E Crusader was the same as Gwen Darcy's reaction to Sun's abs. "Ooo," she cooed. The F-8 was long gone from American inventories, but the French Aeronavale still had a few. It was ancient, predating the Third World War, but in the hands of a good pilot, it was still competitive. It was likely the last time she would ever see one, as the Aeronavale was slated to replace them with Dassault Rafales soon. Compared to the F-8, Dew's F-15 and Octavia's F-16 was old hat, though Ruby noticed that Octavia was flying the same model of F-16 as _Crescent Rose._ The sight of Gwen's Harrier GR.7 gave her a start; Ruby would never look at Harriers without thinking of Roman Torchwick.

"There you are." Ruby turned and saw Weiss standing next to her. "I thought you were coming with me to say hello to my sister."

"I am, I am!" Ruby told her. "Just had to see that F-8!"

Weiss did not share Ruby's appreciation of aviation history; to her, the Crusader was an outdated relic that would be meat for her Typhoon. "Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah, yeah." Ruby followed Weiss towards the transient ramp, where a C-130 was parked, the Klong shuttle that had brought Winter back from a long flight to Germany. Beyond the C-130 was the now-familiar shape of Penny's B-1, back for the rest of Vytal Flag.

Winter was standing near the ramp of the C-130, watching as boxes and crates were unloaded. She turned at the approach of Ruby and Weiss. "Winter!" Weiss called out happily. The elder Schnee sister graced her with a frosty glare. Weiss instantly came to attention and saluted her sister. "Oberst Schnee."

"Oberleutnant Schnee." Weiss elbowed Ruby, who came to attention and saluted as well. "Lieutenant Rose." Now that the military proprieties were finished, Winter motioned to the crates. "IRIS missiles for you, Oberleutnant, to replace the ones you fired over La Crosse. We also have much to talk about, as soon as this is finished."

"Shopkeeper has a new rice bowl on his menu—" Ruby began.

"Alone."

Ruby swallowed. Weiss felt sorry for her friend; unlike Ruby, she could tell when Winter was agitated: she tended to hide within the knowable rules and traditions of the military. When they were children, Weiss always knew her sister was upset when she became flawlessly formal and completely controlled. It was a cold rage that froze rather than melted. "Okay—er, yes, ma'am, Colonel. I will, er, reconvene with you both at a later…" Ruby's memory for formalities faltered under that glacial stare. "Junction—er, juncture. Yeah, juncture." She decided now would be a good time to go say hi to Penny, and walked around the C-130 towards the B-1.

"It went badly?" Weiss asked in a low voice.

"It went as well as it usually does," Winter answered.

"Badly," Weiss confirmed. She stood in silence until the last of the crates were loaded on a truck. Satisfied, Winter turned and began walking towards the terminal, with Weiss falling in behind and to her sister's right.

"Hey. Ice Queen."

Both Schnees turned at that. Weiss did not recognize the tall man, though he wore a USAF flight suit that had seen better days, faded and worn. His graying black hair was tousled, and he needed a shave. There was no rank on his shoulders, nor was there a nametape or wings. "Excuse me?" Weiss demanded. "Who are you talking to?"

The man stepped forward to within arm's length of them, and, to Weiss' surprise, he stuck a hand in her face. "Not you, Princess. I'm talking to her." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Hello, Winter."

Winter's hands clenched into fists inside their gloves. "Qrow Branwen."

"You remembered," Qrow replied.

"You're hard to forget."

"Thanks!" His smile grow wider.

"It wasn't a compliment." Winter's hands went to the small of her back. "I don't have time for your immature games, _Major._" She emphasized his rank.

Weiss finally got over her shock at the tall man's temerity. Now that he was close to her, her nose wrinkled with the smell of an unwashed flight suit and strong liquor; she thought this Qrow Branwen smelled like a wino. "You know each other?" she asked, which was something of a dumb question.

"Unfortunately." Without taking her eyes off Qrow, Winter said, "Major Branwen, this is my younger sister, Oberleutnant Weiss Schnee."

Weiss decided to be neighborly, and besides, he did technically outrank her. She came to attention and gave him a parade-ground salute. Qrow did not even glance at her, but tossed off the most half-assed salute Weiss had ever seen, and she roomed with Yang Xiao Long. "Another Schnee. The most powerful family in Europe." Sarcasm fairly dripped from his lips.

"Why, you—" Weiss began, but Winter held up a hand. "Oberleutnant," she said, "you need to go. Major Branwen and I have unfinished business."

Weiss backed off a few steps. "That's right," Qrow said. "Listen to big sister. She'll protect you. Just like her boss. Just like her family."

Winter's lips peeled back in a feral snarl. "You complete bastard," she snapped. "One more thing about my family and I will drop you right here."

Qrow stepped back and raised his hands. "Oh, shit, I'm scared!" He leered at her. "If only you had an airplane, Winter. I heard they gave you a wing back in Krautland, but you didn't bring anything with you but this trash-hauler." He thumbed at the C-130. "Hell, I heard you were riding around in BUFFs. You a bomber puke now because you can't handle fighters?"

"Oh, I can get a fighter," Winter growled. "I can borrow _Myrtenaster_ from my sister. It was mine, after all."

"Don't even know what the hell that is."

"It's a Typhoon, moron." She made a great show of looking around. "Speaking of aircraft, Major, I don't see yours." She gave him a cold smile. "Oh, that's right. You're still flying that F-117, aren't you? Fighter in name only?"

Qrow bristled. "You know it's been modded."

"With what? A wet bar?" Winter snorted. "Why don't you get in your Wobbling Goblin—"

"Nighthawk," Qrow interrupted.

She ignored the correction. "—and I'll borrow Weiss' Typhoon. We'll go up and have ourselves a nice little fight. I'll even spot you actives and go guns only, because it would give me _great_ pleasure to ventilate your ass."

Qrow's smirk returned. "Always knew you couldn't keep your eyes off my ass."

Winter made a sputtering noise, and her hands came up as if to strangle Qrow. "I swear to God I'm going to—"

"Oberst Schnee!"

Winter instantly turned and came to attention, as did Weiss as Lieutenant General James Ironwood strode towards them. He returned their salutes. In his wake was Ozpin and Glynda Goodwitch, the former using his cane as a walking stick and the latter looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. "What do you think you're doing, Oberst?"

Winter hesitated. "He started it, sir," she finally said, and instantly wished she hadn't.

Ironwood faced Qrow. "What the hell are you doing here, Branwen?"

"Could be asking you the same thing, Jimmy." Qrow only kept that maddening smirk on his face.

Before another fight could stop, Ozpin intervened. "Shall we have this discussion in my office, ladies and gentlemen?" He nodded to the men and women who had been unloading the C-130, watching the altercation and now at attention. "Carry on, working party." As they went back to work, Ozpin smiled at Qrow, nodded, and turned around in the general direction of his office. Goodwitch spared Qrow a withering stare, and followed her commander. After a moment, Ironwood, Winter, and Qrow did as well.

Ruby, who had come back around the C-130 after finding Penny nowhere near the B-1, suddenly spotted him. "Uncle Qrow!" she said happily. She ran towards him, only to skid to a halt and come to attention at the sight of Ironwood. The general's expression softened a bit, he returned her salute, and gave her a quick nod. She finished making her way to her uncle. "When did you get here? Why didn't you come see me? Are you here to see me?"

"Just a bit ago."

Ruby's eyes widened. "Did you bring your F-117?" She looked around frantically, as if the stealth aircraft had somehow magically appeared while she was searching for Penny.

"It's parked on the other side, down by the bomb bunkers. Oz—Captain Ozpin's orders." He grinned at her. "We can go check it out later, but first…" Qrow lowered his voice. "I think I'm in trouble."

"Shit, Uncle, when aren't you—" Ruby turned red. "Oh, sorry, Uncle, didn't mean to cuss."

He ruffled her hair affectionately. "Ah, you're old enough now. Besides, I heard you tied one on a few weeks ago." He bent down and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. "I gotta go, but after Ironwood bites a few chunks out of my ass, we'll catch up—you, me and Yang."

"Heck yeah!" They exchanged a fist-bump, and Qrow walked off, slightly hunched over as was typical.

Weiss came up to stand next to Ruby. "He's your uncle?" At her happy nod, she stared at him walking away. "Suddenly you make sense."

"Whatevs. He'd kick your sister's ass."

Weiss didn't feel like being drawn into a debate. She knew her conversation with Winter about her family would have to wait. "He needs to stop _staring_ at my sister's ass. Dirty old man." She ignored Ruby sticking her tongue out, and couldn't resist a wave as Winter glanced back at them. Her sister didn't return the wave, but Weiss could swear that the elder Schnee was suddenly in a better mood.


	6. In the Air Tonight

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A little short this time, too. A classic Winston Churchill reference in Winter and Qrow's exchange at the beginning of the chapter, and at the end._

_I'm not sure how the Winter Maiden's name is spelled (Fria?), so I went with the classic German "Freya." Bonus if you know what her last name means._

* * *

_Building 71414 (Commander's Office, JRB Beacon)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_9 May 2001_

Once the door to Ozpin's office was closed, Ironwood whirled on Qrow and Winter. "Great example for the troops there, both of you. You want to have a fight, don't do it in front of fellow officers and enlisted men!" He stabbed a finger at Qrow. "Just because you're a free Huntsman who gets to fly wherever he likes doesn't mean you don't act like an officer, Branwen!"

Winter smirked at Qrow. "If he was one of my troops, I'd poison his liquor."

Qrow grinned back. "If I was one of your troops, I'd drink it."

Goodwitch banged a fist on Ozpin's desk. "Enough, both of you! You sound like children!"

It was Winter's turn to point at Qrow. "He's drunk!"

"He's _always_ drunk!" Goodwitch shot back.

"I am not!" Qrow protested. He pulled out a flask from his flight suit and rattled it with a gurgling of whiskey. "Barely touched it."

Ozpin, who had gotten to his seat, rubbed his temples. "Ladies, gentlemen, _please._" They quieted. "First things first. Qrow, it's a _pleasant_ surprise to see you, but why are you here?"

"That's a good question," Ironwood said. "You've been out of communication for quite awhile, Major. Your last report to Colonel Schnee said there had been no uptick in GRIMM activity, and then we get hit with the biggest GRIMM attack in over a decade."

Qrow leaned against a chair. "Jimmy—"

"General," Winter corrected.

"Jimmy," Qrow continued, "my recon work has been down in the Southwest. Not up here. I also had to cover a lot of ground. You _do_ know that we've lost a shitload of Huntsmen and Huntresses in the past few months."

"We know," Ironwood replied. "Do you have any information about that?"

"Still working on it." He looked at Ozpin. "To answer your question, Oz, I came here because Arashikaze asked me to. After my last mission I stopped by Greenbrier."

"She hasn't communicated with me," Ozpin told him.

"She thinks the information is too sensitive to be trusted to e-mail or phone. She wanted to let you know she's lost communication with Source Camo, but that Camo's last message hinted that Salem's attack would be soon.

Goodwitch sighed. "That's the CIA for you. Predicting attacks _after_ they happen."

Qrow shook his head. "Arashikaze's contacts say that the attack was supposed to include a ground attack by the White Fang, helped by infiltrators and a GRIMM attack. No details, just that. She thinks Camo only had time to get off a quick message."

Ozpin steepled his fingers. Camo was the CIA's deep cover operative, embedded either with the White Fang and/or with Torchwick's gang. Ozpin didn't even know Camo's gender, and, though he wasn't much of a praying man, said some words for Camo every night—because if Camo was exposed, God would be their only help. He'd heard the White Fang used torture on people who betrayed them.

"Then Ruby Flight _did_ trip the attack too early," Goodwitch mused, suddenly quiet. "Did the message come before or after the attack?"

"Before. But it means that the infiltrators are here already." Qrow finally gave in and took a swig from his flask. Seeing them staring at him, he offered the flask to anyone else. There were no takers. "I heard there was a break-in in the computer center."

"There was," Goodwitch answered. "So far, we've found no evidence of anything being downloaded."

"What about uploaded?" Qrow wanted to know.

"Again, nothing. So far."

"Well, it gets worse." Qrow took another drink, a smaller one. "My sources also have reason to believe that the people we're up against are the ones who shot down Amber." He paused. "How is she, by the way?"

Ozpin's voice dropped. His office wasn't bugged, but it was habit when talking about the Maidens. "Not good. Her condition has worsened."

"You have a successor?"

"We will soon," Ironwood answered. "Which reminds me, Winter—how is Freya?" He did not ask about the Schnees; he didn't want to air out dirty family laundry in front of Qrow. Not when Winter so obviously despised him.

"She had a mild case of pneumonia, but she's recovering." Checking on Freya Gletscher was the other reason Winter had gone back to Germany.

"At least we won't have to replace two of them." Ironwood turned his attention back to Qrow. "The White Fang took pretty horrific casualties the other day, and the GRIMM as well. I think we have enough here to take care of anything else."

"A whole armored division was a bit much," Qrow said, "but you know how fast Sienna Khan can gather recruits."

"The moment she sticks her head out of whatever hole she's crawled into," Winter replied, "we'll chop it off."

Qrow raised the flask, thought better of it, and put it back in his flight suit. "I hope you're right. I'll tell you something else one of my sources said: a storm's coming. And what you guys saw over La Crosse is just the leading edge."

* * *

_Building 111415 (Visiting Officer's Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_9 April 2001_

Ruth Lionheart was four chapters into _Ninjas of Love III: The Kunoichi Returns_, and quickly turned the page. "Oh wow," she breathed. "Blake wasn't kidding." She was at a particularly steamy scene, where the daimyo's daughter stripped for the wandering samurai, when someone began knocking on her door.

"Oh, stone the crows," Ruth grumbled. When the knocking sounded again, she quietly cursed, threw off the sheets, threw on a bathrobe, and walked to the door. "Who is it?"

"Mercury."

Ruth opened the door a little. She was tempted to tell him to fuck right off, but decided to be polite. "'Ello, Merc. What's up?"

His hands were behind his back again. He paused, then whipped out a bottle of scotch. "Peace offering?"

Ruth clapped her hands together. "Johnny Walker Red! Aw, Merc, you shouldn't have." She held out her hands, and with a flourish, he placed the bottle in them. Ruth clasped the bottle to her chest theatrically. She noticed the label was broken. "Here, now, did you take a drink?"

Mercury laughed. "You're damn right I did. That's the good stuff."

"So it is." She looked him up and down. Mercury wasn't bad looking, and _Ninjas of Love_ had left her a little hot and bothered. She and Neptune had ended up hooking up the night after the dance, but he hadn't shown her much attention since. Then again, she had been rather enthusiastic. She gave him a sultry look. "Fancy a nightcap, Merc?" She accidentally-on-purpose bent over a little, allowing the bathrobe to whisper open just enough for him to tell that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Mercury swallowed at the sight. "Uh…no. Tempting, but…better not."

Ruth shrugged. "Ah, well. Can't blame a gel for tryin'." She winked at him. "Offering accepted, Merc. And I destroyed those pictures, if that's what you were worried over."

"Nah. I trust you." He spread his hands. "Fact is, I've been kind of an ass lately. So I'm…I'm sorry."

Ruth leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Apology accepted. If you change your mind…I'll leave me door unlocked." She turned, wiggled her tail at him from where it stuck out under the bathrobe, and closed the door behind her.

She walked over to the nightstand, found a cup, and poured a small amount of scotch into it. Then she shrugged and poured a lot more. "What the hell," she said aloud, "I'm not flying tomorrow." The 2V2 rounds were due to begin the next day, and Cinder had chosen Mercury and Emerald for the round against Coffee Flight. Ruth wasn't offended; her Jaguar just wasn't suited to that sort of fighting. Then she settled down under the covers and finished the chapter.

Ruth got another two chapters under her belt before her eyes felt droopy. After she'd read the same page five times and kept falling asleep, she laughed at herself, finished the last bit of scotch, put the book aside, and switched off the light. The pillows were comfortable, and Ruth was asleep a second after her head hit the pillow.

* * *

A floor above Ruth, someone else was knocking on a door with a similar peace offering, though it was Qrow Branwen and he was holding a smaller bottle of peppermint schnapps. He knocked twice before the door opened. Much like Ruth Lionheart, Winter Schnee was in a bathrobe, her hair wet from a shower. She graced him with the same arctic glare he'd gotten on the flightline. "What the hell are you doing here?" She flinched. "You smell like a brewery that's been bombed."

Qrow knew that was a lie; he'd showered before he walked to the VOQ, and was no longer wearing the flight suit, just civilian clothes. "Thought I'd say hello. Start over from the beginning, Ice Queen." He held up the schnapps like a waiter offering a rare bottle of wine to a wealthy patron.

Winter flinched at that, as well. "I don't like schnapps. Especially peppermint."

"Oh." Qrow tucked the bottle under one arm and leaned against the doorjamb with the other. "You gonna invite me in, or we going to have this conversation in the hallway?"

Winter rolled her eyes. "Fine." She opened the door enough for him to walk in. "Set the bottle over there. I'm sure you'll drink it later." She motioned at the TV stand.

"Not sure what's going on with you," Qrow began, as he put the schnapps down, "but I didn't realize I'd pissed you off at Signal. In fact, I…I…" His voice trailed off as he turned around. Winter's bathrobe was on the floor around her feet. She was naked beneath it, and Qrow's mouth went dry.

"As you can see, Qrow Branwen," her voice heavy with pure desire, "I have nothing to hide from you." Two steps of those long, magnificent legs brought her up to him, and she crushed her lips against his. He had to pry her off for a moment to get a breath of air. "Winter, what the—"

She licked his lips. "That was a show I put on for my sister and Ironwood. Did I fool you?"

"Yeah. I thought I pissed you off somehow."

Winter laughed softly. "I am sorry. I just don't want anyone to know about us."

"You ashamed of me?"

"Yes."

Qrow shrugged. "Guess I can't blame you. I get the feeling Jimmy knows, after that phone call you got at Signal—" He was cut off again as she kissed him again. "Damn, woman, let me breathe!"

"Of course," she told him. Her fingers reached down and grabbed the zipper of his pants. "Because you're going to need all the air you can get." Winter licked _her_ lips very suggestively. Qrow gulped as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of pants and underwear and pulled them down. "Now make me scream, old man, because you won't believe how I need this right now."


	7. A Knife in the Dark

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Warning: this is a very, very sad chapter. But in a war, there are always casualties._

_If you've never seen a missing man formation, it is simultaneously one of the most moving, sad, and magnificent sights in the world._

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_10 April 2001_

Ruby Flight was sound asleep, despite Yang's snoring. She lay on her top bunk bed, arms splayed open like she had been shot. Blake, for her part, was curled up under her covers. Weiss slept almost at attention, which surprised no one. Ruby could be found in any sleeping position, but currently she was on her stomach, arms clasped around her pillow like it was a teddy bear.

The phone rang. Each room was equipped with a landline, a holdover from the pre-cell phone age. Weiss opened one eye; Blake was awake instantly. Ruby and Yang did not so much as stir. The Faunus and the Schnee heiress both stared at the phone as if by doing so they could compel it not to ring again, but perversely it did. Weiss was closest, so she shuffled in her bed until it was within arm's length, and picked it up. "Ruby Flight, Oberleutnant Schnee." She unsuccessfully fought back a yawn. "Oh, Colonel Goodwitch. Good morning." She waited. "Yes, right away. Hold a moment, please." She set the phone down carefully on the table, got out of bed, winced at the cold floor, then turned and shook Ruby. There was no response, so Weiss shook harder.

"G'way," Ruby mumbled.

"Get up," Weiss commanded. "It's Colonel Goodwitch. She wants to speak with you personally."

"Tell 'er to c'min…"

"She's on the phone, you dolt." Ruby reached out a hand. "The phone won't reach. Get up."

Ruby's head came off the pillow, gave Weiss a dirty look, then finally got up. She dropped to the floor and grabbed the phone, still half asleep. "Yeah, Lieutenant Rose. 'Sup." She didn't even try to fight down a yawn. "Uh huh. Formation at…now?" She glanced at the clock. "Colonel, it's 0530! Why—" Ruby's eyes flew wide open. "_What?"_

Her shout woke Yang up. "What the fuck, Ruby…"

"Y-Yes," Ruby stammered. "Are you sure—" Even the rest of Ruby Flight heard Goodwitch shouting "_Of course I'm sure!"_ "Yes, ma'am. I'll…I'll let the rest of my flight know. Should I, um, tell Juniper? Pyrrha and Nora are right, they're right…okay. Yes, ma'am." They heard the line click off, and Ruby hung up as well. Then she staggered backwards and fell on Weiss' bed. Weiss was about to say something, but she saw that her flight leader had gone pale, and her silver eyes began to fill with tears.

"Ruby? What's wrong?" Blake was out of her bed in an instant, and Yang swung down from hers. "What's wrong?" she repeated.

"It's…oh, God…" Ruby covered her eyes with a hand and shuddered as tears ran down her cheeks. "It's Ruth Lionheart," she finally choked out. "She's dead."

* * *

Winter Schnee had been awoken from a very pleasant sleep next to Qrow by the sound of screams downstairs. They had gotten dressed quickly, but by the time they were down there, several Security Forces and a shaking maid were already present. Winter had gone into the room.

Winter had seen the face of death before—what was left of a pilot after hitting the ground at 600 miles an hour, the ejections that went wrong and broke necks. She had seen the bloated dead after a failed White Fang raid on a Schnee GmbH warehouse. A medic nodded at her as she came into the room.

Ruth Lionheart did not even look dead. She looked asleep, even a faint smile on her lips, as if at any moment she was going to sit up and laugh at them for falling for a prank. Winter put the back of her hand on the Faunus' forehead and drew it back quickly; the skin was dry and cold. There was no reason to check for a pulse.

"Please don't touch the body, ma'am," the medic said. "We don't know what happened to her yet."

"Of course. My apologies."

She stood a silent vigil by the body with the medic until Ozpin arrived half an hour later, for once looking sleep-tousled, his uniform obviously put on hastily. "Goodwitch called me," he said. "What's happened?"

It was the medic who answered. "Captain Ozpin, the VOQ maid came by around 0445 and found Flying Officer Lionheart's room door open. She came in to check, tried to wake her—usually Miss Lionheart goes for a jog about this time—and when she didn't respond, the maid called SF."

Ozpin looked down on the body. He leaned on his cane, and to Winter, he suddenly seemed very old. "Ah, God," he said quietly. "You poor woman. And Leonardo." He lifted a hand to his eyes, visibly fought for control of himself, and finally asked, "Cause of death? Do you know yet?"

The medic shrugged. "It doesn't look like she was attacked or anything, sir. Near as I can tell, she just died in her sleep." He paused. "Anyway, sir…I don't think she suffered. For what it's worth." The medic was nervous; this was not his usual line of work.

"She had been drinking, sir." Winter had noticed the bottle of scotch and the cup. "But there's only a third of it gone."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am—" the medic began.

"I know, Sergeant," Winter interrupted. "Not enough to kill. I'm familiar with the symptoms of alcohol poisoning."

"And Ruth drank far more than that at the party." Ozpin nodded at the medic. "You're dismissed, Sergeant. Thank you." The medic came to attention for a moment and left, leaving Ozpin and Winter alone. "Where's Qrow?" Ozpin asked.

Winter did not bother to lie. "He was with me all night. He returned to his room."

"I'm not suspecting him, Winter. I just wanted to make sure he was all right." He pretended not to notice the slight blush on her cheeks.

"Do you think she was murdered?" Winter said quietly. The question had hung in the air since she had walked into Ruth's room; she supposed she was getting paranoid.

Ozpin was silent for a moment. "There would be no reason to. Ruth had no enemies; she wasn't privy to any secret information. I would expect there to be signs of a struggle, but there isn't any that I can see." He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Were it you, or me, or even certain members of Ruby Flight, then I might suspect it, but not Lionheart. Perhaps that family is just cursed." A long sigh. "And now I have to call her father. Poor man. He loved his daughter so."

One of the Security Forces airmen stuck his head into the room. "Sir, OSI is here."

"Very well." Beacon, like all USAF bases, had a small Office of Special Investigations branch permanently assigned to it; since Beacon was a Joint Base with the Navy, there were also one or two members of the more well-known Naval Criminal Investigative Service. The investigation was going to be a jurisdictional nightmare, since Ruth had been a citizen of the United Kingdom as well.

"Captain Ozpin?" Unlike the Security Forces, OSI agents tended to wear civilian clothes. The OSI man was tall, prematurely balding, but every inch the professional.

"Lieutenant Friedman."

Friedman looked down at the body. "Damn," he breathed. Ruth Lionheart had been very well known around the base.

"Lieutenant," Ozpin said in a low voice, "I hate sounding callous, but I don't want her leaving this base until a thorough autopsy is done."

"Absolutely, sir."

"Colonel, let's leave the Lieutenant to his work." Winter nodded and followed Ozpin out the door. He had to start making phone calls. The first would be to Leonardo Lionheart in the UK. The second would be to Rissa Arashikaze at CIA.

* * *

_Hangar One_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_10 April 2001_

The pilots filed into the hangar quickly, exhausted, sleepy, and in shock. There were no seats; they simply milled around, and the news quickly spread. Glynda Goodwitch could hear gasps of surprise, curses, and crying. She took a deep breath. She had done this before, but it never got easier.

She came out from behind her F-22. Goodwitch had taken the time to shower and dress in her formal blues. Blake saw her and shouted "Attention on deck!" Instantly the pilots came to attention.

Goodwitch stopped before them. "At ease." She put her hands behind her back. "There is no easy way to say this, so I will just say it. Flying Officer Ruth Lionheart was found dead this morning, about an hour ago. We do not have any information on cause of death, but to avoid any wild speculation, it is believed that she died of natural causes." She surveyed the front row of pilots, which had ended up being Ruby Flight and Creamer Flight. Cinder Fall was pale, clearly stunned; tears ran down Emerald's face, her lips trembling; Mercury Black was stoic. As Goodwitch came to Ruby, the lieutenant was trying to be brave, but she was crying as well, held up only by Yang, who wasn't in better shape. Weiss and Blake were standing at ease, but Goodwitch could tell they too were just barely hanging on.

Goodwitch sighed. She felt sorrow, but it was muted; she really had done this too many times. "All flying is cancelled today. We will have a memorial service this afternoon; uniform is formal dress. I realize that is sudden, but unfortunately we must get back to the exercise as soon as possible. I need volunteers for the flypast; Creamer Flight…no longer has enough." A sob escaped Emerald's lips before she bit it back.

Jaune raised his hand. "Colonel, Juniper Flight would like to volunteer."

"Very well. Thank you, Lieutenant Arc. You and your flight meet me in the auditorium so we can plan for it." She paused. "Ruth Lionheart was a great person. She was a fine officer and superb pilot. She will be missed, to say the least." Another pause. "Dismissed." There was nothing more to say. Goodwitch walked over to Creamer Flight—what was left of it. As she passed, Ruby finally fell to her knees, Yang with her, both hugging each other, crying inconsolably. She watched for a moment as Weiss walked over to Neptune and hugged him; the Navy pilot was sitting down, utterly in shock. "You have my condolences," Goodwitch told them. Cinder nodded blankly; Emerald was rubbing her eyes. Mercury still said nothing, but she noticed he was pale as well. As she turned to leave the hangar, she saw the young man turn and run out of the hangar, shrugging off anyone who tried to stop him. Goodwitch shook her head, understanding the need to be alone. Cinder and Emerald soon followed. No one tried to stop them; Creamer Flight needed to mourn among themselves.

* * *

Cinder and Emerald walked back to the VOQ in silence. They saw the ambulance pulling away. "_Vaya con Dios,"_ Emerald whispered as it went past them, and wiped new tears from her face.

The VOQ was deserted, but Mercury was waiting at Cinder's door. She unlocked it and let him and Emerald go in first. Once it was closed, Cinder opened the closet and unlocked her suitcase. Hands behind her back, she walked towards the two remaining members of Creamer Flight. Mercury stood against the wall; Emerald sat on Cinder's bed.

"What the hell did you do?" she asked Mercury, her voice low.

Emerald looked from Cinder to Mercury, and her expression became one of horror as she realized what had happened. "Oh my God," she said. "You killed her, Mercury. You _killed_ her."

Mercury gave a shrug. "No point in trying to deny it."

Emerald was on her feet. "_Chingada madre!"_ she shouted. Her hands came up, her eyes filled with tears and rage.

"Keep your voice down," Cinder ordered. She returned her attention to Mercury. "Why?"

"She knew," Mercury said. "She was going to tell Ozpin."

"Tell him what?" Emerald wanted to know.

Cinder took a breath. "You stupid bastard. We _had_ this conversation. She wasn't going to tell Ozpin anything."

"You don't know that," Mercury told her. "We couldn't risk her endangering the plan."

Cinder said nothing for a moment. Then she moved like a striking snake. The pistol came out from behind her back and hit Mercury in the forehead with the barrel. He fell to the carpet, more surprised than hurt, but then Cinder was standing over him, the pistol leveled at his head. "You fucking _idiot._ You've done more to endanger the plan in the last twelve hours than Ruth ever did. What do you think Ozpin is going to do when he figures out Lionheart was murdered?"

"He won't," Mercury insisted. "He'll never figure it out. No one will."

"You'd better start explaining," Cinder threatened.

"You're not going to shoot me and have another murder to explain," Mercury snapped.

"I'll discuss it with Ozpin and let your corpse know how it turns out," Cinder hissed. "Start talking. Now."

Mercury got up to his elbows. "I bought her a bottle of Johnny Walker Red at the package store. When I got back to the dorm, I poured enough sleeping pills in there to put an ox to sleep. Even accounting for the alcohol dissolving some of it, there was enough to put her out like a light. Not to kill her, just knock her out."

"How did you get into her room?" Emerald, the former thief, knew it wasn't all that easy to break into the dorm rooms. She could do it in a few minutes, but Mercury wasn't a thief; he was an assassin.

"Lionheart was nice enough to leave her door open for me. Seems she thought I was going to come in and bang her later. I walked in about one in the morning after everyone was in bed, and put a pillow over her face. She didn't struggle."

Cinder stared at him. "You smothered her."

Mercury nodded. "And before you ask, Cinder, I know what I'm doing. My pa taught me that much, the son of a bitch. I checked the pillow to see if she had bit into it. She hadn't. I checked her mouth to see if she bit her tongue. She didn't. And yes, I wore gloves—surgical gloves I bought off base. I'll dispose of them off base as soon as I can." He glanced at Emerald, who was looking like she wanted to commit homicide herself. "She didn't suffer, if you're worried about that. To everyone who looks, she just died in her sleep, probably from mixing sleeping pills and booze. Happens to people all the time."

Cinder held the pistol on him a moment longer, then stepped back. "All right, Mercury. All right. It sounds like you at least used your head. It was still remarkably fucking stupid and completely unnecessary, and if I didn't need you, I'd shoot you in the fucking head and claim you admitted to the murder and I killed you in revenge. If you fuck up again, I'll go to OSI—and you'll find me a _lot_ fucking harder to kill than some stupid, naïve Faunus." She kept the pistol at her side. "One more time, Mercury. Just once. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah. Can I get up?" At her nod, he got to his feet. "I did the right thing, Cinder."

"Go back to your room," Cinder ordered. "At the memorial today, you'd better act appropriately somber—maybe throw some tears in there, you inhuman piece of shit. And if your idiot little stunt causes Leonardo to blow our cover, I swear I will make sure I kill you first." She motioned with the pistol. "Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and kill your stupid ass anyway." Mercury did as he was told. At no point had Cinder raised her voice, which made it all the more effective.

After he was gone, Cinder set the pistol on the nightstand and sat on the bed across from Emerald. "Of all the idiot fucking things," she said.

"Why?" Emerald asked.

"Ruth found out that I gunned down Fox Alasdair and Velvet Scarlatina during the battle last week. My fault; I forgot about the stupid gun camera. But I had her convinced that it was a friendly fire accident. Ruth destroyed the gun film, but that simple asshole killed her anyway, because he's shit-scared that Ozpin's going to find us out. And now he's made that more likely."

"You convinced Ruth?"

"I know I did, Emerald." Cinder sighed. "I didn't like that insipid little bitch, but we needed her, if for no other reason to control her father."

Emerald swallowed in fear. "Do you think he'll…"

"He shouldn't. I'll call him here in a moment. We'll stick with the story that Ruth just died of natural causes. It will devastate Leonardo, but I'll lie and tell him we had nothing to do with it. Since he's more afraid of Salem than he is of anything else, he _should_ go along with it. I hope." Cinder slammed a fist on the bed. "God _damn_ that fucking Mercury. We never should've been saddled with that psychopath. We should've had Hazel. Christ, Tyrian might even be an improvement."

Cinder levered herself off the bed. "All right. We might as well get ready for the service. I'm sure there's going to be people coming by to make their condolences. I have to put on a good act." She walked towards the closet.

"You don't care?" Emerald said it before she thought about it.

Cinder stopped. "I regret its stupidity. Remember what we're here for, Emerald."

There was a threat in Cinder's voice, and Emerald picked up on it. "I won't betray you, Cinder. I owe you too much for that."

Cinder waved her towards the door. "You're the only one on this whole damned team I trust, Emerald." The former thief nodded as she opened the door. "Nice work on the tears in front of Goodwitch. That will help."

"Thanks," Emerald said, and left. In the hallway, she wasn't sure what angered her more: Ruth Lionheart's murder, or the fact that Cinder thought her tears weren't genuine.

* * *

The dais was moved out onto one of the runways. No chairs were set up, because it would not be a long service. The funeral would be held back in England for Ruth, once the autopsy was finished. Ozpin had also forbidden any cameras; the news crews had learned of the death of one of the Vytal Flag pilots and had wanted to film the memorial, but Ozpin had turned that down, hard. When one of the reporters complained, Ozpin told him it was as much for the media's protection as the pilots'—a reporter clicking away with a camera or offering commentary during a memorial would probably end in broken cameras and broken teeth.

Ruby got there early. She was in her dress blue uniform, which she hated wearing—mainly because it always made her look like a little girl playing dress up. Naturally, Yang made the uniform look great. Blake's Marine uniform was also, as usual, crisp and sharp, and Weiss' Luftwaffe uniform was all silver braid.

The other reason was that it seemed like the only time she ever wore the uniform was to funerals.

Ruby only remembered dimly Summer Rose's funeral. There was no coffin, because there was no body. There had been a service of some kind, and she remembered the warmth of Yang's hand in hers. Yang hadn't really understood either: it was just that Mom was there and then she wasn't, and never would be again. They still didn't know exactly what happened: officially, Summer Rose was listed as Missing in Action, but so many Huntsmen and Huntresses were.

The other pilots soon arrived. Ruby took a deep breath and walked over to Cinder Fall. "Cinder?" She didn't know if it was appropriate to use the older woman's first name instead of rank, but she did it anyway. "I'm sorry about Ruth."

"So am I." Ruby was surprised: Cinder seemed more angry than sad. Of course, everyone reacted to grief differently. Then her expression softened a little, and she smiled down at Ruby; Cinder topped her by six inches. "Thanks for saying that, Ruby. It's appreciated."

Ruby gave her a nod, then went over to say hello to Emerald and Mercury. The Spanish girl was composed, but Ruby could tell that she had been crying. Mercury was shaking, and when she tried to talk to him, he just covered his eyes and shook his head. Unsure of what else to do, she gave both of them a hug and rejoined Ruby Flight as Ozpin came through the crowd, in his dress whites. He stopped as Ruby walked back. "Lieutenant, you'd mentioned to Colonel Goodwitch earlier about wanting to say a few words?"

"If that would be all right." Ruby had gone from Hangar One to Goodwitch's office soon after the announcement.

"It would be welcome. Thank you."

A small table was set in front of the dais, and a picture of Ruth was placed on it. There had been a base-wide scramble to find something, but it had been Velvet who had provided one. It was a shot of Ruth standing next to her old Jaguar, a grin on her face, flashing the V-for-Victory sign, the day she had "shot down" Nora. Seeing the picture made Ruby feel better: she could hear the Cockney accent: _What's this lot? Why's everyone sad? Have a wake, you sods!_

Ozpin got up to the dais and said a few words, praising Ruth's bravery in the Battle of La Crosse, then invited anyone who wished to say a few words. Velvet stood up first, and told some funny stories about how she and Ruth had trouble communicating, despite both being from the United Kingdom—Velvet's parents were originally from Australia, whereas Ruth's mother was East End London.

Coco went up next. Her speech was halting at first, trying to find the words in a language she wasn't native to, but she soon warmed up and told a hilarious story about Ruth trying to speak Arabic and ending up asking how old someone's camel was when trying to ask Coco her birthday. Nobody knew if it was true or not, but fighter pilot stories were none the worse for embellishment. Then it was Scarlet David, who told the story of Ruth's marriage proposal. Now everyone was laughing; Ruby caught even a small smile on Cinder's face.

Finally, it was Ruby's turn. She walked up the stairs to the dais and stood behind the podium. As she looked out over the pilots, every word she had practiced vanished from her brain. Near panic seized her. Then she took a breath, closed her eyes for a second, and winged it.  
"We're all going to miss Ruth," Ruby said. "But if she was standing here, she'd say 'Steady on, Ruby Rose, don't bore them to tears!'" It was a fair approximation of Ruth's accent. Everyone laughed because it was true.

"Ruth lived her life at full throttle. Her mom got killed at an airshow, but she joined the RAF anyway. Yeah, she could be annoying. Yeah, she was a bit, um, forward with her affections. But she loved all of us, for real. And when we needed her, she was there." Ruby, with an effort, kept her eyes dry. "Ruth was here, doing the thing she loved the most. When it's our time to go to the big O-Club in the sky, I hope we can all say that. And Ruth…" Ruby could not stop her lower lip from trembling. "…save me a seat." She could say no more, and left the dais.

Ozpin returned. "I will add no more but to paraphrase the famous General George Patton: we should not mourn that such people like Ruth Lionheart died. We should be thankful that she lived." He turned at the sound of jet engines. Ruby saw Juniper Flight approaching at about two thousand feet, and immediately her throat tightened. She was going to burst into tears; there was no stopping it.

Juniper Flight came over the runway, but before they reached the crowd, Pyrrha's F-16 suddenly broke formation and climbed hard into the blue sky, engine roaring. She was soon gone from sight, leaving a gap in Juniper's formation as they came over. Known as the missing man formation, it was traditional at fighter pilot funerals, a way of saying farewell; the gap showed that a friend had "flown west," as the pilot slang went, the climb a soul going to Fighter Pilot Heaven, where the beer was always free and the missions were always fun.

Ruby buried her face in her hands, tears running through them. It got worse every time, from the first missing man formation she had seen, for her own mother. She had been to too many others since. She was hardly alone: Yang was crying too, with the same memories. Weiss was trying to hold it together and not succeeding very well. Blake's face did not move, but the tears ran down her cheeks silently.

Slowly, the pilots filed off as the noise of Juniper's passing faded. And suddenly, Ruby thought, it wasn't fun anymore.


	8. Always On My Mind

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: The aftermath. The pieces continue to move on the board._

_I don't know if the part about filling out forms to clear out someone's stuff if they die is still done, or if anyone can be listed on the form. It was during WWII: my grandfather had his bunkmate (who was considered mildly psychotic) and Admiral William Halsey. By law, Halsey would've been required to come to my grandfather's carrier and help clean out his stuff. It more than likely is still true that a pilot's stuff is cleaned out before the personal effects are sent home, so nothing bad, compromising or nasty ends up landing on his or her parents' desk-or worse, a spouse's._

_Please leave a review. I love hearing from people. _

* * *

_Building 111415 (Visiting Officer's Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_10 May 2001_

Cinder returned alone to her room. She placed the _Do Not Disturb_ sign on her door; she needed to think, and she'd had enough of people expressing their condolences. She took off the dress uniform, took a shower, then lay down on her bed in a towel to think.

Losing Ruth Lionheart was regrettable and dangerous, and Cinder was surprised to find herself missing the Cockney Faunus. Nonetheless, what was done was done. The worst part had been calling Leonardo to tell him his daughter—his last living family member—was dead. Cinder did feel sorry for the old Faunus, but again, it was not her fault. She had obliquely warned Leonardo not to reconsider their "deal," and was confident that he wouldn't. At the funeral, faking sorrow had come easy to her; Cinder Fall had long ago learned to disguise her emotions, to become a completely different person on the outside. What had been done to her had ensured that.

The phone on the nightstand abruptly rang. Cinder stared at it murderously for a moment, then picked it up. "Hello," she said, not bothering to disguise her annoyance.

"Cinder? Greetings. It's W."

She sat up. W was Arthur Watts; even if his initial wasn't a prearranged codename, his accent was unmistakeable—even if it did make her think about Ruth. "Hello, W. It's been awhile."

"We've been on a long journey, unfortunately. I'm on holiday with Will Fetters at Cousin Hector's. Still close to where you are, though, if you want us to visit." Cinder translated that. Watts was still with the White Fang; the Cousin Hector she would have to figure out later. If they were still close enough to "visit," that was good news.

"Not a good idea at the moment," she replied. "I'm swamped here with the exercise and all. You can watch it on TV, you know. We'll be on tomorrow morning."

"Our reception isn't so good here, but we'll try to get it on the telly. How are things with your flight?"

"Not so good. Ruth Lionheart died this morning. In her sleep."

There was a pause. "I'm very sorry to hear that. Will you be recalled?" Watts sounded concerned. This was not part of the plan.

"No, the show goes on. Might even get a chance to use one of Uncle Art's tricks tomorrow. You remember the old switcheroo he used to do when we were kids?"

Watts laughed. That was code as well. Before they had all left Europe, he had made some alterations to Emerald's Mirage. She hadn't had an opportunity to use them yet—it wouldn't have helped against the GRIMM, and Cinder had not wanted to show too much of Creamer Flight's hand against Juniper Flight. "I'm definitely going to have to see if we can tune in. Any other tidbits you'd like to share?"

"We're going to have some Creamer in the Coffee tomorrow." Cinder doubted anyone was listening in, but in case they were, whoever they were would likely pick up the easy reference: Creamer Flight was fighting Coffee Flight the next day. In cracking a ridiculously easy breach of operational security, they wouldn't think to look for the real breaches. "Hey," she said, as if suddenly thinking of something, "how did that chess game go you were telling me about? That big one against Uncle James. I had money riding on that one."

"All right. I used the Scandinavian Defense."

"Nice." Cinder nodded to herself: the Black Queen was still in play. Uncle James was code for Ironwood. Again, it was simple, and they were hoping that simple would pass by for people looking for the complicated.

"You really should play again."

"Maybe," Cinder said. "Next time we play for pennies, though. Too rich for my blood otherwise."

"Play for pennies?" Watts chuckled. "If you want. Awfully small stakes, though."

"No such thing, W." That was the next phase of the plan, one added hurriedly weeks ago, as a distraction from the White Fang assault. The attack was on hold, but Cinder had let Watts know she was going to use the distraction plan, which would probably pay even higher dividends than before. "You know me. I always play to win." Cinder paused. "How's my doggie doing?" She referred to her F-22.

"Fine, fine," Watts said. "That little Italian girl has been taking her for walks." _Neo,_ Cinder thought. _She better not wreck my plane._ "She wanted to ask you how Alex was doing."

"Alex is fine, but he's tied up with work. Not sure when he's going to get out there to see you." Alex was their codeword for Roman Torchwick. "I understand he's here for the exercise, though. If you make it out, I'll make sure we get together again."

"Ah, that's good. The poor thing has been worried sick for her Alex." Watts yawned; Cinder wasn't sure if it was faked or not. "Damned sorry to hear about poor Ruth. I'll talk to Mother about sending her father something as soon as I can, poor man."

"He'd appreciate that."

"I'll ring off here, Cinder. Take care of yourself."

"I always do, W. See you soon." She hung up, then leaned back on her pillows. Unseen by anyone, Cinder Fall smiled.

* * *

A few hours later, Ruby and Nora trudged down the hallway of the VOQ. Both had returned to the barracks, only to be notified by Goodwitch that they were required to clean out Ruth Lionheart's personal effects. It was a surprise, but by regulations, they had to do it. When a pilot began flying combat, they were required to fill out a form in case they were killed. It would list where any personal effects should be sent, and who would be required to do the packing. The pilot could name anyone to do it, so long as they were military and they were still alive. Ruby knew Yang's form listed her sister and General Luna, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. If something happened to Yang, Luna would be required by law to fly to Beacon and help Ruby clean out Yang's locker.

"This is really weird," Ruby said. "Why us? Usually you pick your flight to clean out your stuff."

"I know," Nora agreed. "I've got Ren and Pyr for my stuff." She smiled in spite of herself. "If something happens to me, Pyrrha's in for the shock of her life. How about you?"

"Yang and Weiss." Ruby shrugged. "I got nothing that's shocking."

"You don't?" They reached Ruth's dorm room. "No dirty books or bad stuff on your computer?"

"Nope. We've got dial-up. Even if I wanted to look at that stuff, it would take three hours to download."

"That's true." Nora knocked on the door. A man in a suit answered. "Hi," she greeted him. "I'm Lieutenant Valkyrie; that's Lieutenant Rose. We're here to get Ruth's stuff."

"Oh. Hold on." The man closed the door. They heard muffled voices, then the door opened again. "Yeah, sure, come on in. We're all done here." He left the door open, and the two pilots walked in.

Ruth's room was clean; the bed was made. There were two men in the room; both wore suits, but one walked over and put out a hand. "Lieutenant Valkyrie? Lieutenant Friedman, OSI." They shook hands. "We're all done here, so you ladies can get started. The only things we took out were things that could be used in an investigation."

"Investigation?" Ruby asked incredulously. "But Ruth died of natural causes, right?"

"It's routine, Lieutenant."

"Oh." Ruby looked at the bed. "Can we…see her?"

"Once the autopsy's done, we'll be sending her body on to her dad in the UK. Maybe then." He looked uncomfortable. "We're gonna miss her. We over in OSI don't get to mix much with you pilots, but even we knew Ruth."

"Yeah. Thanks, Lieutenant." He waved to them, took the other man—who had never been introduced—and left the room. Nora closed the door behind them. She and Ruby shared a look. "Well," Nora said with a sigh, "no point in putting it off."

They went into the bathroom first. Her toothbrush was gone—probably OSI had taken it—but the other toiletries were present, along with some feminine hygiene products. Nora tossed those into a paper bag; they could be divvied up among the female pilots.

While Nora handled that, Ruby opened the refrigerator. If there was a typical fighter pilot fridge, Ruth's was it. There were some scattered ketchup packets, two frozen burritos guaranteed to cause an explosive combination of diarrhea and acid reflux, and two bottles of Coors. Given that Ruth was always disparaging American beer, Ruby was surprised at that. "Hey, Nora. You want a beer?"

"Hell yes, I want a beer." Nora walked back into the main room. "We need to give Ruth a proper wake."

Ruby tossed Nora one of the beers, then pulled out her handy Swiss Army knife, and popped open the top on her own. Nora simply ripped hers off. They took a long drink. Ruby still didn't like beer much, and this wasn't going to change her opinion, but she was thirsty and this was for Ruth. In that spirit, she raised the bottle. "To Ruth."

"To Ruth," Nora answered. They took another drink in silence, then it was back to work.

The dressers were next—clothes, underclothes, some books—mostly manga, Ruby saw. They threw all that into boxes to be sent home. Under one stack of underthings Ruby pulled out a long, black cylinder. "What's this?" She thumbed a switch under the base, and it vibrated in her hand. "Oh."

Nora looked up and whistled. "Damn. That's bigger than mine." She pointed at Ruby. "You'd better keep that. I don't think her papa needs to see that Ruth owned one of those."

"What do I do with it?"

"Pitch it. Unless you wanted to keep it or something. Ruth probably would get a laugh out of that. I'd wash it first." Nora wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Er, no." Ruby stuck it under some towels that would replace Ruby Flight's tattered ones. Someone would acquire it. "Besides, I don't think…I don't think it would fit."

Nora laughed. She tossed more clothes into another box, but heard a thump when she did. She turned and reached into the box, rummaged around, and found a package inside Ruth's peacoat. "Oh geez. This is probably porn; I'd better take it out." She turned over the package and was startled. It was addressed to her. She held it up for Ruby. "Check this out. This is for me."

"You going to open it?"

Nora weighed the package. She'd kept it together so far, but if she came upon anything personal, that would not last long. "I'll open it later." She put it on a stack of things she was keeping for Juniper Flight.

A half hour and the rest of the beer later, they were done. Ruth Lionheart's things filled two boxes for shipping home, while the donated items filled two bags. Ruby looked around sadly. It wasn't much for a life, and when they left, Ruth Lionheart would have disappeared from Beacon as if she was never there, alive only in memories. Her body and her boxes would be sent home, and eventually someone in the RAF would collect her Jaguar. Ruby had noticed that, oddly, there were no pictures of Ruth's family.

"Well," she sighed, "let's go." They tossed the beers into the garbage, took one last look, and left the room in darkness.

* * *

Unknown to Ruby and Nora, Weiss was also in the VOQ, upstairs from Ruth's former room, and down the hall from Cinder. She was also enjoying a beer, but it was Lowenbrau, and it was with her sister. Weiss took a drink and smiled. "Now that's good. The Americans just do not know how to make beer."

Winter nodded. As a rule, neither she nor Weiss drank—not after seeing what alcohol did to their mother—but occasionally they enjoyed a beer or a glass of wine. German beer was hard to get at Beacon, as one would have to drive to Wisconsin Dells for it, so Weiss indulged herself. Winter leaned back against the cushions of her bed, and tried to avoid thinking about who had been there the night before, and what they had been doing. She wasn't sure how Weiss would react—with revulsion, or with merciless teasing. That brought on another drink.

"So what did you find out from home?" Weiss said. Winter had been wondering when it would be asked. Her younger sister had been dancing around the subject for half an hour.

"It's not Father paying off the White Fang. It's Mother." Winter saw no reason to sugarcoat it.

"What?" Weiss exclaimed. "_Mother?"_

"Yes." Both Schnees took a drink. _Careful,_ Winter warned herself. "She's doing it to protect us. Specifically Whitley."

Weiss bit back what she was going to say, which was that Willow Schnee was doing a bang-up job so far—after all, Weiss had been nearly killed by the White Fang at least once since coming to Beacon. Whitley, however, was attending school in Great Britain, and even under an assumed name, he was vulnerable. Menagerie was far away from Eton, but not too far. "And she believes the White Fang will abide by that?"

"Yes. I think, deep down, that she knows the White Fang are playing her for a fool. But our mother desperately needs something to hold onto." Winter took one last drag at the beer, then threw it into the trash. There were four other bottles, but she did not get another. "Which is why I'll be returning to Germany tomorrow."

"So soon!" Weiss cold not keep the sadness off her face. "I was hoping you'd be here a little longer."

"I came back to make sure the IRIS missiles were delivered, and to deliver my report to Captain Ozpin." Inwardly, Winter smiled. _And to see Qrow._ "As per our agreement, Weiss, he needs to be kept in the loop."

"Then the CIA knows," Weiss sighed. "Ozpin will tell them about Mother."

"Yes. He's going to brief one of their representatives personally tomorrow, here at Beacon."

"What will they do?"

"I don't know. I suspect nothing," Winter said, "but I don't know." She saw her sister staring at her feet, hands clasped around the beer bottle. "They need to know, Weiss. We can't even trust the BND with this, because I don't know who's reliable there." She used the acronym for the _Bundesnachrichtendienst,_ the German Federal Intelligence Service. "Ironically, the Americans are more trustworthy now than our own people."

"I never should have done that research," Weiss said quietly.

"Yes, you have. I'm glad you did. It's better to know." Winter decided to change the subject. "Do you know who you're going up against in the 2V2 competition?"

"It's supposed to be secret, but it's the worst kept secret on the base." Weiss smiled. "Yang and I will be up against Funky Flight." She said the last in English, which caused Winter to chuckle.

"Funky Flight?"

"Three Americans—Flynt Coal of the USAF, flying a F-15, and Neon Katt and Kobalt Ivori, both US Navy, flying a F-14. It's going to be a difficult fight." Weiss had been gaming it out in her head since she had learned it from Emerald.

Winter raised an eyebrow. "Neon Katt?"

"That's her name."

"With a name like that, you hardly need a callsign." Winter glanced at the clock. "I very much hate to break this off, Weiss, but I must get some sleep."

"It's only 9 o'clock."

"You know I'm not going to sleep on that C-130. I doubt I'll sleep on the C-141 from Charleston to Laage, either." In reality, Winter wanted to get Weiss out of the VOQ well before ten. She loved her sister, but Qrow was supposed to come by at ten. She suppressed a shiver of anticipation. Qrow might drink too much, might be flippant to a fault, but if there was a way to please a woman that he didn't know, Winter hadn't discovered it yet. "Laage is on the other side of Germany from Herrenscheimsee—" Winter defiantly used the old name for Schnee Manor "—but it's close enough that I can see Mother or Whitley if they need me."

"Whitley doesn't need anything but his video games," Weiss snapped.

Winter got up off the bed, went over, and embraced Weiss. "Yes, he does, Weiss. He may not realize it now, or may not want to admit it. But he needs us, and we need him. He's our brother. And Mother…"

"Mother is Mother," Weiss answered, returning the hug. "I still love her. That's the sad part of all this—her money probably financed the purchase of that F-5 that almost killed me, but I can't hate her for it, Winter." They separated. "I wish I could love Father. I still can't believe he's cut me off."

Winter shook her head. "That was his choice, Weiss. Not ours." She shrugged. "You could call him. Given the proper amount of…" She almost said _begging,_ but while that was accurate enough, there was no reason to anger her sister further. "…filial piety, he would reinstate your funds."

Weiss was silent for a moment. "No," she answered simply.

"Good," Winter replied. "He cut me off as well when I joined the Luftwaffe. Learning to live on a salary was difficult, but I think I'm the better person for it." She handed her sister the carton of beer. "Share this with your flight, and be safe. That's a good group of people you have there." Winter laughed a little. "Now how is _that_ for irony? The Belladonnas' daughter, being your friend. Perhaps there's hope for us after all."


	9. The Last Leaves of Autumn

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Short one this time, but important, as we finally meet the Fall Maiden...kind of. Amber's injuries are based loosely on Howard Hughes' after the crash of the XF-11._

_Still no reviews? You're killing me, Smalls. This is what makes me write smut on AO3._

* * *

_Building 71414 (Commander's Office, JRB Beacon)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_11 May 2001_

Ozpin rose as Rissa Arashikaze, Deputy Director for Intelligence for the Central Intelligence Agency, walked into his office. He got up to get around his desk, but she anticipated him, walked briskly to him, and to his surprise, hugged him. "Well, now," he smiled.

"We go back too far," she explained. Rissa motioned him to his chair and took the seat across from it. "Your call was a bit of a surprise. We were planning to meet, but I was going to fly in tomorrow."

"I'll address that first. I'm sorry," he said, "did you want some coffee?"

"Oh, no. I had three cups this morning and on the flight. Thank you, though." She laughed and shook her head. "You still make that Navy style, don't you?"

"Once a sailor, always a sailor." He toasted her with his coffee cup. Ozpin had known Rissa Arashikaze for a very long time, and she never seemed to change—a remarkably short woman, barely five feet tall, who had risen through the ranks of the CIA through sheer competence and complete ruthlessness. He also knew her petite form and affable personality had a dark side: someone who, in her day, had been an assassin herself and tortured without remorse.

"Oh hell," Rissa said, got up and poured herself a cup. She took a sip as she leaned on the sideboard, and smiled. "That's good." She took another sip. "Okay, Oz. Let's have it."

"One of my pilots died yesterday—Ruth Lionheart."

"Air Commodore Lionheart's daughter?" she asked. At his nod, she sighed. "Poor man. What did she die of?"

"The autopsy is being done today. I'd like you to be there."

Rissa shrugged. "I'm not a doctor, Oz. And the CIA isn't supposed to operate on US soil outside the Dead Zones."

"No, but our base doctors are not trained to look for more than the obvious foul play." He steepled his fingers. "And since when have you cared about jurisdiction?"

"True," she admitted. "It's a wonder I haven't been arrested. You think she was murdered?"

It was Ozpin's turn to shrug. "Probably not. I seem to have a tendency to jump at shadows these days. However, Ruth Lionheart was a very healthy young female Faunus. People like her don't often just die in their sleep." He held up a report. "Results of her last physical. She was in, for all intents and purposes, perfect health."

Rissa cradled the coffee in her hands. "Why would anyone want to kill her?"

Ozpin was silent. "I honestly don't know. She wasn't privy to any sort of secret knowledge. Her family doesn't have any enemies that I know of, and they were never involved with the White Fang. So I'm probably just being paranoid."

She took a drink. "Okay, Oz. I'll be there."

"I appreciate it."

"I want something in return," she said.

"All right."

"I want to see Amber."

"Now?"

Rissa nodded. "If at all possible."

He took a deep breath. "Very well." Ozpin got to his feet, and Rissa followed him.

They left base headquarters, and crossed Arryn Avenue to the base hospital. Once inside, they walked down a corridor, moving aside for doctors and nurses. Occasionally, both would surreptitiously look behind them, to make sure they were not being followed; Ozpin noticed that Rissa had done this when she walked into his office, and smiled. _Once a field agent, always a field agent._ They turned down another, much less used corridor, and entered a doorway marked QUARANTINE-GOWNS, MASKS AND GLOVES REQUIRED. In the small antechamber that separated the room, they did as instructed, putting on sterile gowns, gloves, masks, and booties over their shoes. Then they walked into the room…where there was nothing. Rissa gave Ozpin a quizzical look, and he turned and almost casually put his hand on the wall. A hidden fingerprint reader ran over his index finger, and a door marked as a closet opened. The interior indeed looked like a closet, filled with cleaning supplies, but as they walked in and shut the door, Ozpin took a card from his wallet, pushed a gown aside, and ran it through a reader. There was a hiss as another set of doors closed in front of them, and then the elevator descended.

"Interesting," Rissa commented. "How many people have access?"

"Glynda, myself, and the chief doctor here at the hospital—Dr. Thomas. He's trustworthy."

She gave a short nod, and then the elevator lurched to a stop. "We're two floors down," Ozpin explained. "This actually used to be the freight elevator, and this sub-basement is where the boilers and emergency batteries are located. We walled off this section from the rest of the basement, and it draws power directly from the hospital. There is an uplink here, and one in my office."

"One in your office?" Rissa asked. "That seems risky."

"I'm the only one who knows the password. The uplink computer is separate from my office computer, and has no connection to the internet. If we ever had to use the Fall Maiden, I doubt I would have time to get down here."

Two sets of doors opened, admitting them to a room bare of paint, with just drywall. There were machines along the wall, and the inevitable beeping noises of an intensive care unit. A curtained bed took up the center of the room. Ozpin walked forward, pulling up his mask, and drew the curtain back. Another, transparent plastic curtain still walled off the patient. Rissa came forward and looked down on Amber Tardor.

She lay on a diagnostic bed, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. She was attractive, with short brown hair and a pleasant face. Below the neck, however, was horror. Tanned skin gave way to burns, her naked upper chest reddened as if by a bad sunburn, but deepening to dark red before her lower half was hidden by the covers. Her left arm was gone below the elbow, ending in a stump of angry red skin; beneath the covers, Rissa could see both legs were gone, one at mid-thigh, the other below the knee. Around her remaining wrist was a large, watchlike device that listed her heart rate and blood pressure.

"I'd heard she was badly injured," the CIA woman said, "but not how bad."

"She was shot down over the Nevada Dead Zone," Ozpin told her. "Qrow Branwen was nearby, heard her engaged with air pirates of unknown origin. By the time he got there, she was already down—she crashlanded her F-16 on the desert floor next to a deserted highway. AWACS warned him that there were a large number of GRIMM headed in his direction, but they never did pick up Amber's attacker for more than a few seconds—we believe it was some sort of stealth aircraft. Amber never did get off a contact report, only that she was being engaged by long-range missile shots and could not get a lock on her attacker."

"That could be anything," Rissa said, "but that red F-22 Goodwitch engaged over Ohio and the one Captain Long fought over Minnesota would fit the bill."

"It would." Ozpin touched the plastic curtain. "Qrow was able to land his modified F-117 on the road, and found Amber. She had managed to crawl out of the wreckage—she had apparently been too low to eject—but had been badly injured, as you can see. He called in SAR and she was flown to Hill Air Force Base. Her legs were crushed in the crash, and her right arm was so badly burned that both legs and the arm had to be amputated. She had third degree burns over her pelvis, but the doctors were able to operate successfully and give her skin grafts." He picked up her medical chart. "It's what you don't see that is worse. Her chest was crushed by the instrument panel, collapsing her left lung and actually shifting her heart to the right side of her chest. Still, the doctors were able to save her life—temporarily."

"Why not permanently?"

Ozpin sighed. "Her liver and kidneys were also badly injured. The medical staff believed they might recover, but her kidneys failed soon after her transfer here." He pointed to the tubes coming out of her side, leading to a dialysis machine. "Amber's body has simply taken too much damage. These machines are the only things keeping her alive right now."

"Is she ever conscious?"

As if summoned, Amber's eyes opened slowly, and looked around, unfocused. Rissa could see the whites had turned yellow, which meant jaundice was setting in. "Who's there?" she whispered, barely audible.

"It's Ozpin, Amber." He reached through the plastic curtain and took her remaining hand in his. She squeezed it, but there was no strength in it.

"Oh…hello, Oz." She smiled and blinked. "Who's that…with you? She's…kind of cute."

Rissa smiled. "I'm a friend," she told Amber.

"Must be a pretty…high-ranking friend…to see me." She turned over to look at the wall. "Is the sun out?"

Ozpin let go of Amber, walked around Rissa, and switched on a large monitor. It flickered to life, and showed a view of the flightline. Amber's smile got larger. "Oh…that's nice. Can…you leave that on?"

"Of course."

"Thanks." Amber stared at the monitor. "Don't…let me stop…your story." She had to pause between words to get her breath. "Heard…it before."

Rissa dropped her voice so only Ozpin could hear. "How long?" she asked.

Amber had heard her. With effort, she turned back to Rissa, the tired smile still on her face. "Oh…not too much…longer." Then she turned back to watch the monitor again.

Ozpin sadly nodded. "She's right. She could go into systemic failure at any time. It could be tonight; it could be three months from now."

"Kinda…fucking doubt that," Amber put in.

"Do you have a replacement?" Rissa obviously hated to say it in front of Amber, but it had to be asked.

"I do."

That got Amber's attention. Weakly, she reached out her hand. "Oz…who?"

He reached in and patted her hand. "Don't worry about that, Amber."

"Let me…meet them…before I go."

"I will. Now get some rest."

"Okay…music?"

"Certainly." Ozpin went over to a radio and switched it on. Soft, classical music filled the room. Amber's eyes narrowed. "Not…that…soft…shit," she growled.

Ozpin chuckled and switched the station. Metallica blared from the radio now. Amber gave a thumbs-up, then threw a small wave to Rissa before the hand fell back to the bed. She continued to stare at the monitor as they left, and a single tear made its way down her cheek.


	10. She Blinded Me With Science

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: The hardest thing about this story is writing the air combat scenes. I watch an episode, grab what I can, and then map it out. Hopefully it looks good when translated on the written page._

_I've also done far too much research on how to curse in French and Arabic for this chapter. The autopsy scenes I admit I borrowed from Clive Cussler on; I was afraid to look up "murder by suffocation" on the internet. The NSA is probably following me as it is._

* * *

_Yooper Air Combat Range_

_Upper Michigan Peninsula, United States of Canada_

_11 May 2001_

It was a beautiful day for air combat, Coco Adel thought, then squirmed a bit in her seat to try and get comfortable. Though the Royal Air Force had been able to rush out another Jaguar for Ruth Lionheart—a Jaguar now without a pilot—the Republic of Iraq's Air Force was not quite as well equipped. Although it had been ten years since Saddam Hussein had been deposed, making it much easier to get aircraft, they still didn't have the resources. Coco's Mirage F.1-her beloved _Gianduja, _named for the Italian chocolate she loved—was still some weeks away from being repaired, so she was borrowing Jaune Arc's Mirage 2000. A generation newer than her Mirage, she was enjoying flying it. It was far more responsive to her touch; too responsive, she thought, which could be a problem in a dogfight.

She glanced to her right. Yatsuhachi Daichi in his F-2A was out there, both assuming an expanded section. They would be visible on radar as two aircraft, but Coco liked the flexibility of the fighting pair. She missed having Fox and Velvet in their Tornado, which could feed radar contacts to them while she and Yatsuhachi kept the radars off. In any case, this was a 2V2 fight, but Coco still felt a bit naked.

"Coco, contact, two bandits at eleven o'clock low."

"Roger. Lock 'em up." It wasn't terribly sporting if both of them killed Creamer Flight in less than ten seconds, but Coco wasn't interested in giving the TV reporters a show. She'd nearly punched one of them the day before, who got too close to Ruth's memorial. The radar quickly locked on, faster than her older Mirage; that part she liked. "I've got the bandit on the left."

Yatsuhachi clicked the mike twice in response. A second passed, and an audible beep in her helmet earphones told her Coco had a lock. _Sucks to be you, Creamer,_ she thought, and pulled the trigger. "Coco, Fox Three!" Her wingman repeated it a second later. The datapod that substituted for the actual missile fed its targeting information back to Beacon.

"Tally-ho, eleven o'clock low," Yatsuhachi called. "One F-16, one Mirage. They're breaking left." His voice was calm, but it would take an extinction level event for Yatsuhachi to get rattled.

"Roger, I got them!" She was waiting for Range Control's call, but her hopes were dashed a half-second later. "Coffee, Range Control, missile shots trashed." _Damn,_ she thought morosely. Coco followed the two specks that were Creamer Flight, as they not only broke hard to avoid the shot, but descended and disappeared behind a ridge. The hard deck had been waived for this flight as well in the interest of realism, and at the request of Creamer. Coco, who loved to work down low, had no objections.

"Yatsu, float left, you have the lead." She put her Mirage into a shallow dive, and saw the F-2 make a hard left break. She gave it a moment, then snapped the stick hard left to follow. To her surprise, the Mirage 2000 did a snap roll that threw her off for a moment, a precious second she had to waste getting back ahead of her aircraft. She got back on track, and saw Yatsuhachi's blue-painted F-2, now pulling out low—and from behind the ridge popped out the gray Mirage F.1 of Emerald Sustrai. "Yatsu, break right!" she called. "Emerald's pulling lead on you!"

Yatsuhachi threw the F-2 to the right, using his better turning performance to throw off Emerald's shot as she called out a hasty, and futile, Fox Two. The Mirage turned into the F-2, and then reversed as they entered a horizontal scissors. Coco kept her eyes on them, but also looked for Mercury's F-16. Her eye caught movement and her radar warning reciever shrilled for her attention as the F-16 suddenly shot out from behind another ridge and climbed straight at her. She hated to do it, because it meant taking her eyes off her wingman, but Coco broke hard into Mercury, ruining his shot. He shot past on her right side. "Yatsu, engaging Mercury!" she puffed out as she went hard right to follow, the G-suit squeezing her.

"Emerald, Fox Two!" was her only answer.

"Range Control. Yatsu's a mort."

"_Ayreh feek!"_ Coco snapped, a rather vile Arabic curse. Mercury was now breaking right, but she popped her speedbrakes and chopped the throttle a bit, keeping him out in front, settling into perfect parameters for a Sidewinder shot. Coco retracted the speedbrakes and accelerated. She checked her mirrors for a second, then the RWR display beneath her heads-up display; both showed clear. Her gunsight settled on the F-16 as Mercury lit his afterburner and climbed. "Big mistake," Coco growled, because now the Viper was perfectly outlined against a blue sky, with the Sidewinder sniffing nothing but its exhaust. The practice Sidewinder growled and her finger caressed the trigger.

"Emerald, Fox Three on the Mirage!"

_What?_ Coco's mind shouted as she instinctively went into a break, but she had hesitated a half-second, long enough to check a RWR display that was still clear.

"Range Control; Coco's a mort. Creamer wins."

"Shit." Coco leveled out and rocked her wings as the other Mirage flew past. She leveled out as Creamer Flight disappeared in the distance. Yatsuhachi joined up for the flight back. "Well, that sucked," she groaned.

"_Shigata ga nai,"_ Yatsuhachi radioed back. Nothing to be done. Coco sighed and looked at the clock on the instrument panel. Twenty-two seconds. Not unusual for a dogfight, but she was getting tired of losing. "Hey, Yatsu," she called out. "Go to Channel Three." She switched frequencies, off the one Range Control used and one that was discreet enough the controllers wouldn't listen in. "I have an odd request."

"Sure."

"Drop back into trail and lock me up with your radar. Like you were going to pop me with an active."

There was silence for a moment, but then Yatsuhachi replied, "Roger," and did as he was asked. She watched the RWR display, and the expected strobe came on, along with the aural warning. "Thanks," she told him. "Rejoin and go back to Channel One." She went back to their formal channel. "Range Control, Coco. Are you sure about that last missile shot?"

The controller paused. "Roger that, Coco. Clean shot."

_Something's wrong here._

* * *

They landed at Beacon fifteen long minutes later. After they'd taxied in and parked, Jaune placed the ladder and came up as she raised the canopy. "You got my plane shot down," he said, smiling to let her know it was kidding.

"Something's wrong with this fucking airplane," Coco snarled back. She left the power on and gestured angrily for Jaune's crew chief, a tall Frenchman. Jaune swung off the ladder as the chief clambered up, and winced as Coco let him have it. The crew chief wasn't having any of it, and both of them swapped French insults as Coco powered off the Mirage. They were still at it as both climbed down. Jaune put his hands up defensively. "Easy, easy!" he exclaimed. "What's the problem here?"

"The problem," Coco snapped, "is that there's something wrong with your fucking airplane!" She slapped the side of the Mirage angrily. "Emerald locked me up and killed my ass with a radar shot, and the fucking RWR never even showed it! Yatsu locked onto me on our way back and it worked just fucking fine! _Bordel de merde!"_ Coco was proud of the fact that she could curse fluently in four languages—English, Arabic, French and Kurdish.

"There is nothing wrong with this airplane!" the crew chief shot back. "I and my crew check it quite thoroughly before we let _anyone_ take off in it. I guarantee that there's nothing wrong with that equipment!"

"Then you explain it, _ya kalb!"_ Technically, an officer was not supposed to cuss out an enlisted man, but she was banking that the Frenchman didn't know she'd just called him a dog.

She was wrong. He stripped off his gloves, threw them at Coco's feet like he was challenging her to a duel, and climbed up the ladder, jumping into the seat. He switched on the internal power and began running a diagnostic. Jaune and Coco waited on the side of the hardstand, joined by the enormous Yatsuhachi; Jaune always wondered how the biggest Japanese person he'd ever seen fit into the F-2. They heard the Mirage power up, power down, then power up again before the crew chief shut it off. He climbed back down the ladder. He went up to Coco, towering over her. "Captain Adel. I ran a diagnostic twice on the RWR. It's working perfectly. There is nothing wrong with _Crocea Mors,_ and quite frankly, I don't appreciate you inferring that I would send you up with a bad aircraft. With all due respect, Captain Adel, _ta gueule."_ Coco was startled at that: the chief had just told her to shut the fuck up. He stormed off, around the aircraft.

Coco's fists balled, but Yatsuhachi put a hand on her shoulder. "Coco, stop it," he said.

"He insulted me!"

"He had a right to. If he'd said you were a poor pilot, would you not have reacted the same?"

Coco stared after the chief, who was now opening an inspection panel and motioning the rest of the ground crew over. She slowly let out a breath. Yatsuhachi was right: a pilot blaming the maintenance crew for the pilot's own faults was one of the worst things a fighter pilot could do. She took off her helmet, handed it to Jaune, and walked over to the maintenance men; Jaune followed. "Chief," she said. He said nothing, but glanced back. "I'm sorry. I was out of line."

The crew chief stopped his work, and nodded. "Yes, ma'am." It was both apology and acknowledgement.

Honor satisfied on both sides, Coco retrieved her helmet from Jaune and put it under her arm. "I don't understand," Jaune said.

"Emerald shot me down with a radar missile shot," she explained. "And it never showed up on my RWR. I didn't even see her." She looked at Yatsuhachi. "Did she do the same thing to you?"

Yatsuhachi laughed. "No, unfortunately not. She forced me out front by going idle and boards—" he used the terminology for going to near idle thrust and throwing out the speedbrakes "—and nailed me with a Sidewinder. She was below and behind when she shot you down."

"Explains why I didn't pick her up visually," Coco mused. She motioned them to walk with her. "I want to go back to the auditorium, Jaune," she said, "because somehow Emerald locked onto me with her radar and I didn't even know it—and neither did your Mirage."

* * *

The doctor performing the autopsy on Ruth Lionheart was a civilian one from Madison; neither the USAF nor the US Navy had coroners at all bases. By the time Rissa Arashikaze came to the morgue, he had already done most of the work—not that she knew much about autopsies, though killing large numbers of people had left her with a lot of knowledge about bodies and how they worked, or, at least, how they stopped working.

The doctor, a middle-aged man with the unlikely name of Butcher—"I've heard all the jokes," he had told Rissa when they met—consulted his chart. "I think you've wasted your time coming here, Miss Arashikaze," he said. "Miss Lionheart here was in excellent health. In fact, I'd say that she's the healthiest dead person I've ever met."

Rissa tried to ignore the fact that this cute young Faunus that lay naked on the slab in front of her had most of her internal organs in bags on the long metal tray next to her. She still looked like she was smiling, like the whole thing was a colossal joke that everyone wasn't in on yet. "That's why I'm here, Doctor. Healthy people just don't die."

"Sometimes they do. Something we've missed, maybe. I haven't looked at her brain yet. An undiagnosed tumor, or a blood clot."

Rissa felt a little sick at that; she didn't want to be there when that happened. She looked at the chart, and the death certificate. "Let me go by the numbers here, Doc. Make sure _I'm _not missing anything. Official cause of death?" It was still blank on the certificate.

"That's just it. I don't know yet. She died in her sleep." He stood over the body, hands on hips, as if angry that Ruth was not telling him how she died.

"Then let's just say, for argument's sake—and so I'm not wasting my time here—that she was murdered. Never mind the why, just the how."

Butcher circled the slab, slowly. "Captain Ozpin thought that might be the case, so I tested her blood. There were barbituates in her system, but no more than what you'd find with sleeping pills. And though she had been drinking, her blood alcohol content was nowhere near drunk. In fact, I doubt she'd even had enough to give her a buzz. Yes, you can die from mixing sleeping pills with alcohol, but usually it's in much higher doses of both."

"Any other toxins?"

"Not a one. Didn't see any injection sites, either."

"Nothing under her fingernails?"

"Nothing. Not even dirt. She looks to have kept herself pretty clean."

"Would you mind if I looked?"

Butcher motioned for Rissa to do so, and she went to work. She checked under the fingernails for puncture sites, but there was nothing. She checked every orifice below the neck, as much as she wished she didn't have to, but there was nothing there, either. She lifted the left arm and looked closely at the armpit. "What are you doing that for?" Butcher asked.

"Old KGB trick. Insert a metal rod under the armpit while the subject is sleeping—especially if they're drugged. The rod goes straight through into the heart, and the victim bleeds out into the torso. No puncture wounds, though." Rissa gently let the arm down. "There wasn't any evidence of sexual activity, was there?"

"None."

That left out everything below the neck. Next Rissa checked the ears, which were clean, then went through the hair. It took half an hour before she was satisfied. She looked up the nose. When there was nothing there either, it left the mouth. "Any bite marks on the tongue?" she asked.

"Not that I could see."

_Damn,_ Rissa thought, _maybe Oz and I really are just jumping at shadows._ She levered open the mouth and used a flashlight to look inside, checking the tongue, the back of the mouth, and the sides. She was about to give up when she saw it. "Doc, look at this."

He bent over. With a gloved hand, she pointed at Ruth Lionheart's gums. There, faint but present, was bruising. "I'll be a son of a bitch," Butcher said. He peeled back her lips, and there was paleness there, paleness that wouldn't be there on a healthy young Faunus.

"Did they bring down the pillows that were on her bed?" Rissa asked. She carefully checked the body's throat; there were no ligature marks.

"Yeah, right here." He walked over and grabbed one of the pillows, in its evidence bag. Rissa put on fresh gloves, tore open the bag, and looked at the pillow. Then she placed it over Ruth's face, careful not to let the fabric actually touch the corpse. "I don't suppose you've got a magnifying glass?" she asked.

Butcher smiled, reached under the tray, and held one up. "I'm a bit old fashioned."

Rissa smiled back, took the magnifying glass, and carefully scanned the pillow. "I think I got it." She handed the glass to him, carefully keeping one finger where she wanted him to look. "What's that look like to you? It's faint, but it's there."

He looked. It took him a moment, but then he slowly nodded. "Bite marks. They wouldn't be seen by the naked eye, but they're there." He set down the magnifying glass, stared at Rissa for a moment, then walked over to his briefcase. He pulled out a fifth of Tennessee whiskey. "I think we need this." She agreed. Both took a swig, straight from the bottle.

"Your conclusions, Doctor?" Rissa asked. She already knew the answer, but she wanted it to be official.

"Paleness on the gums, bruising on the gums, faint but present bite marks on the pillow." Butcher shook his head sadly at the corpse. "You poor, poor girl. You were suffocated to death."


	11. Always Something There to Remind Me

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Meant to have the fight with Funky in this chapter, but it got too long, so you get Qrow and the girls, and Funky talking some smack._

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_11 April 2001_

Qrow Branwen positioned himself carefully behind the corner. He could hear the two guards talking to each other, and waited patiently for one of them to move on. Then he drew his knife, stalked through the doorway, crept up behind the first guard, and…

…promptly got shot for his trouble as the second guard hadn't quite moved away yet. "Turn around! Turn around!" Ruby shouted in alarm.

"Don't try and stab him!" Yang yelled. "He's got a Schmeisser! He's going to light your ass up! Grab some health!"

"Where is it?" Qrow asked frantically.

"On the wall behind you—" Then the view changed, as Qrow's character, the Allied secret agent, was mowed down by the two Germans. "Dammit," he sighed. "I'm never going to get past this level. Damn Krauts." _With one notable exception,_ he thought to himself. He was already missing Winter Schnee.

"Uncle Qrow," Ruby said, "that's the _first_ level."

"Whatever." He set down the keyboard. "I'm more of a N64 guy anyway. I'd kick all your asses on _Goldeneye._"

"Ugh," Yang groaned. Qrow wasn't lying; he was deadly at that game. "Too bad we don't have a good air combat simulator."

"Too much like work," Qrow said, and leaned back against Blake's bed. He and his two nieces were the only ones in the room; Weiss and Blake were both working out at the gym. "What's the legal age in Wisconsin?" he asked, pulling out his flask.

"21," Ruby replied.

"Good. I'm old enough." He uncorked the flask and took a drink. "Yang, you want a sip? You're old enough. None for you, Ruby."

"Nah, I'm good." Yang was leaning against Weiss' bed. She'd sampled Qrow's flask before, and it was what she figured antifreeze tasted like. Ruby, sitting on her bed, didn't press the issue, for the same reasons, and figured now was not the time to tell Qrow she'd gotten horribly drunk a few weeks before.

"So how did your last mission go?" Ruby asked. "If you can tell us."

"Can't tell you the particulars, but I can tell you this one part. It's pretty scary." The two girls leaned forward as Qrow took another drink, made sure the door was closed, and dropped his voice. "So there I was. I'd flown up to Alaska and stopped at Eielson. It's the Wild West up there—cut off from us by the Pacific Coast Dead Zones and the mountains from the rest of the Remnant, and with Siberia right across the Bering. GRIMM central up there." Another drink. "So I walk into this bar in Fairbanks. Lots of lowlifes in there. A place where they drink gasoline and eat polar bears for fun." He motioned them a bit closer. Ruby hopped off her bed and sat down next to Yang. "And then…then it happened. I couldn't believe it. Hell, I _still_ can't believe it."

Yang nodded, hanging on every word; Ruby had clasped her hands in front of her. "What…what was it?" she stammered.

"The bar girl. She bent over. Her dress hid nothing, girls. Nothing. And her panties didn't hide much either. I could see right down Main Street." Qrow grinned at them.

Yang and Ruby both covered their eyes. "Hit him," Yang said. Ruby dutifully grabbed one of Weiss' pillows and threw it at her uncle. He caught it in midair. "You're a sick bastard, Uncle Qrow."

"Yeah, but you guys think I'm cool anyway." He looked at the flask, and put it away.

"Moving on," Ruby sighed, "how much trouble are you in?"

"What, with Ozpin?" Qrow waved it off. "None. Oz and I go way back. Hell, he was here when I attended Vytal Flag for the first time."

"Is that why you're here?"

"Kind of. Part of my job is checking in with higher authority sometimes, and I needed to keep Ironwood and Ozpin in the loop." He was tempted to tell them, strongly so, about the horrendous losses the Huntsmen and Huntresses of American and NATO forces had been taking. He reconsidered. It was very much classified information, on a need to know basis, and neither Yang nor Ruby needed to know. Not right now. "We're all pros. Oz and Ironwood rag on me sometimes, but there's no friction on the operating level."

"We're pros too," Ruby insisted, and for a moment, Qrow didn't see his nieces as the grown women they were now, but as the children they once were.

"Oh?" he asked with a mocking smile. He needed to get rid of that memory in a hurry, before he started crying or something. Thinking of Yang brought memories of Raven. Thinking of Ruby brought memories of Summer.

"What, you don't watch the news?" Yang pointed to herself and her sister with weighty importance. "We sort of saved the day over La Crosse last week. Rubes helped blow up a train and wiped out the White Fang, and I made ace."

Qrow laughed. "Yeah? You want a medal or a chest to pin it on? Ruby almost blew herself up with that train and you almost bought the farm against a F-22." As soon as Qrow said the words, he regretted them. Not because it wasn't the truth, but because it was an abrupt reminder—to him—of his nieces' mortality. They had followed their parents, and him, into a very dangerous job. He'd already buried too many friends, and too many friends that had been practically family.

Still, it needed to be said, he supposed. Yang and Ruby were good—damned good—but they needed to be reminded that they were pointed rather than anointed. They were getting cocky. "I'll grant you that you did a hell of a job," Qrow continued, "but if you think the White Fang's been wiped out, you're wrong. You killed a bunch of them, but they're like a fucking hydra. And we never did find out their leaders." He caught something cross Yang's face. She knew something, but Qrow wasn't going to press her. It was doubtful she knew anything he didn't already.

They were looking down, now, he thought, so it was time to pick them up again. Qrow was aware that the girls tended to worship him; why, he had no idea. They didn't need a father figure; Taiyang had been a great father to them both. "All right," he said, "I'll stop with the red-assing. I'm really impressed with what you people have done with Ruby Flight. Top scoring flight at Vytal Flag ain't nothing to be ashamed of." He winked. "Of course, you still got a ways before you equal the _best_ flight ever to come out of the exercise." Qrow pulled out his wallet and brought out the photograph, looking at it for a long moment before handing it to Yang. "Strike Flight. Simple name, but best that ever was, best that ever will be."

They'd never seen the photograph before. Taiyang Xiao Long and Qrow were both kneeling on one knee in the foreground, their helmets in front of them; they looked piratical, with "bulletproof" mustaches—Tai with a thick blond one, Qrow with a thin black one. Behind them, leaning on their heads, grinned Summer Rose and Raven Branwen—Summer behind Tai, Raven behind Qrow. Summer's russet hair was trimmed to regulation length, just above her shoulders; Raven's was far out of regulation. Behind them was Tai and Qrow's F-4E, nose and gunport festooned with a sharkmouth; just barely visible to the left and right of the Phantom was Summer's F-16 and Raven's F-15. Back home at Patch, there were several pictures of Summer in her dress uniform and Taiyang in his, but Qrow and Raven were notoriously camera shy. Yang ran her thumb over Raven's image.

Qrow nodded. "Figured it was high time you knew what my sister—your mother—looked like, Yang." He knew Tai had destroyed every picture he had of Raven, after she'd abandoned him and baby Yang. Even now, Tai rarely spoke of her, and never around his daughters.

Yang wondered if she should tell her uncle she'd met her mother. Ruby remained silent: she knew about Raven now, but it was Yang's secret, not hers. She handed the picture back to Qrow; now, she thought, was not the time. "Nah, you can keep it," Qrow said. "I've got another copy." He stared at his flask. "What Raven did wasn't right, Yang. Believe me, I've talked to her about it. But she…I think she was afraid she'd be a bad mother, that she wasn't good enough."

"She was right." Yang's voice was flat and emotionless, but there was no disguising the bitterness in it.

"Don't hate her, Yang," Qrow told her.

"I don't hate her, Qrow. I'm just really disappointed in her." Yang shrugged. "Like I told Blake: Summer Rose was my real mother. She treated me like I was her own."

Things had gotten very awkward, and Qrow knew it. He got to his feet. "Well, I'm getting too old for video games. Think I'll head for my rack." He scratched Zwei behind the ears; the corgi had perversely climbed onto Blake's bed. "Just remember you guys have a ways to go. No need to rush it. And when Vytal Flag's over, there's still your career to worry about…and wars to fight." He grinned at them to show them he was still proud of them, still loved them. "But you're gonna do just fine. You got good genes." He threw them a half-assed salute and headed for the door. Yang waved absently at him, lost in her thoughts.

Ruby jumped up and ran to meet Qrow in the hallway. "Uncle Qrow," she said in a low voice, "please don't be mad at Yang. I think she's just…got some, well, issues with Raven."

"She has a right to be pissed," Qrow replied. "Let me guess. They met."

Ruby's eyes went wide. "How did you know?"

"Just a feeling. That and Raven flies a prototype aircraft she stole, the prototype for your friend Penny's aircraft. It's called the Night Raven, and it's been spotted over the Midwest. Visually—it's radar proof. It has some kind of weird computer that captures radar beams and scatters them to hell and gone. Your radar won't even show that it's there. I bet she landed somewhere near here and infiltrated the base. She's heard that Yang was looking for her." Qrow stared towards Ruby Flight's room and shook his head. "Shit, I bet that went pear-shaped in a hurry."

"Sure as hell did. Yang told her to go eff herself. And what she said about Mom—about Summer Rose? She threw that in Raven's face."

Qrow sniffed. "Jesus. There's not much that would make my sister lose it, but that would be it. I think she always resented the fact that Summer was a great mother to you two, and didn't have to sacrifice her career for it."

"Uncle Qrow…" Ruby didn't want to ask the question that had popped into her head, but she had to. "Did Raven…kill my mother? She went down on a mission to the West, right?"

Qrow shook his head vehemently. "No. Raven may have resented your mother, but they were still friends. They were as close as sisters. Summer was heartbroken when Tai proposed to Raven, but she was still her maid of honor at the wedding. She wouldn't have killed Summer. No way." He hugged Ruby. "Take care of your sister, Yang. I think she's down a bit right now, and not just because she met Raven. Whoever that F-22 pilot was that she ran into over Minnesota, she came close to getting her, and that's always hard on a pilot, when you realize you're not invincible anymore." He kissed her hair. "Now go in there and kick her ass at a game."

"You got it." Ruby stood on tiptoe and kissed her uncle's cheek, then walked back to the room. Qrow watched her leave, and felt his eyes get a bit moist. "You'd be damned proud of them, Short Stack," he whispered. "Both of them."

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 May 2001_

"This feels weird," Ruby said. She stood next to the ladder attached to _Ember Celica._ "I feel like I should be up there with you guys."

Yang finished strapping on her lifejacket. The fight was going to be back over the Yooper Range, but it could end up over water, and anything close to water required the lifejacket. "Pretty sure that would be cheating, Rubes." She winked at her sister. "Though I won't tell if you won't."

Ruby smiled. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

"Ahh…" Yang shrugged. "I just let that stupid picture get under my skin. No sweat. Slept good last night, and ready to kick the shit out of Funky Flight today. Tonight we'll drink some beers, and maybe I'll pick up someone at the bar." Ruby was shocked at that, and Yang needled her some more. "C'mon, Ruby. I haven't gotten laid in months! A girl's got needs!" She raised her voice. "I mean, even Weiss' tight ass is starting to look good!"

Weiss, who was walking by with Blake on the way to _Myrtenaster_, graced Yang with a glacial stare. "I am _way_ out of your league." She grabbed Blake and thrust her forward, as if the Faunus was a slab of meat for inspection. "Why not Blake?"

Yang considered Blake, rubbing her chin. "Maybe. The Bellabooty _is_ pretty awesome." She turned to Ruby, who was red-faced. "Hey, don't ask, don't tell, Rubes." She turned serious—somewhat. "You good to go, Weiss?"

"Of course."

Blake folded her arms across her chest. "Remember what I told you about the F-14. Neon and Ivori are flying a D-model. It's not going to have the same problems like the A, but the Ds haven't been wired for AMRAAMs like my _Gambol Shroud._ Flynt is going to handle the long-range shots, but you know how the Tomcat is at close range. You know what to watch for, right? The wings?"

Yang nodded. "Yes, Blake. I _was_ paying attention when we talked about it this morning. Besides, I've waxed your butt up there, haven't I?" She pointed to the sky.

"That's unfortunately true, but I was also tired." Blake wasn't quite conceding the point. "And with Ivori in the backseat, that gives Neon another set of eyes to watch the sky. You're not going to sneak up on them as easily as you did me that time."

"Hey!" A new voice interrupted them, and Ruby Flight turned to see Flynt Coal, Neon Katt, and Kobalt Ivori: Funky Flight. Flynt and Ivori both looked like the typical fighter pilot—muscular, lean and handsome—and seemed cut from the same cloth, although Gray's skin was pale and looked like he needed some sun, while Flynt's was the color of coffee. Both even wore the same style of sunglasses. It was Neon, however, that would make people stop in their tracks. Not because she was attractive, which she was, or because she was a Faunus—her tail swished behind her, giving Ruby Flight an abrupt reminder of Ruth Lionheart. It was her hair: it was bright pink, tied into two pigtails, with two turquoise stripes dyed in it. To say it was not regulation was an understatement. Ruby's eyes went to the patch on her flight suit and Ivori's—VF-143, the infamous _World Famous Pukin' Dogs,_ known to be a somewhat unconventional unit. Flynt, Ruby knew, was from the USAF base at New Orleans, hence the flight name; he did look as if he'd be comfortable in a French Quarter jazz club.

"Hey yourself!" Ruby waved back, and Funky Flight walked over, stopping about a pace from Ruby Flight.

Flynt nodded towards Weiss. "You're Weiss Schnee, right? The heiress."

Weiss steeled herself; references to her family's company were rarely complimentary, especially with a Faunus present. "I am," she replied.

"My dad knew yours," Flynt said. "Until Old Man Schnee ran his company out of business, of course."

Weiss sighed inwardly, not sure if Flynt was actually angry or just trying to get under her skin. "I'm sorry to hear that." She threw some penitence into her voice, which was not entirely faked.

"Yeah, right. Sure you are."

Yang stepped forward. "Hey. Let's save it for upstairs, huh?"

"Yang Xiao Long, right?" Neon popped her gum loudly.

Yang smiled back, though there wasn't much humor in it. "Let me guess. My dad screwed over your dad too?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that." Neon's eyes traveled up and down Yang's body. "You must work out. Ever rollerblade?"

"Can't say as I have."

"Yeah, I can see that. Top-heavy as you are." Neon put her hands below her own bust. Even under the flight gear, there wasn't much there.

"At least I got boobs—"

"Okay!" Blake stepped forward. "This sounds like a great conversation, but everyone but Ruby and me is flying, so let's get to that, huh?"

Neon turned her attention to Blake. "Oh look. Another glum Faunus, ashamed of what she is." At the shocked look on the other girl's face, Neon just smiled. "I can tell what you are, Belladonna. I can smell it."

Blake smiled back, and scratched her cheek with a middle finger.

Flynt put a hand on Neon's shoulder. "See you up there, Ruby Flight." He steered her away—they'd all noticed how rigid her tail had gotten—and Kobalt followed them. _Sorry,_ he mouthed over his shoulder.

Weiss and Blake stared daggers in the departing Funky Flight's direction. Yang laughed. "They were abused children. C'mon, Weiss, let's show them who's boss." She hugged the former Schnee heiress.

"Right." Weiss stalked off towards her Typhoon.

"Good luck," Ruby said to Yang as the elder sister mounted the ladder.

"Fuck 'em," Yang grinned and tossed her a Qrow-style salute.


	12. Over the Hills and Far Away

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yeah, air combat time! This chapter is mostly Yang's. _

* * *

_Yooper Air Combat Range_

_Upper Michigan Peninsula, United States of Canada_

_12 May 2001_

Yang was relaxed by the time she and Weiss reached the Yooper Range. As the "visitors," Funky Flight had gotten their first, something she wondered was for the cameras. So far, the coverage of Vytal Flag hadn't been very invasive; nothing like the Big Brother reality TV the pilots had wondered about when it first started. Yang wasn't sure she was disappointed or not: she'd always wanted to be a movie star. This hop, however, they were carrying camera pods, and she was going to give the folks at home a good show.

Weiss broke into her thoughts, which was just as well. "Yang, Weiss. I have a spike. They're looking at us."

"Roger. Mine just lit up as well." Funky was going to start off with long-range missile shots. "Let's lock 'em up." Weiss was eyeball and Yang was shooter, but now she switched on _Ember Celica's_ radar, and instantly had a lock on two high-speed targets.

"Neon, Fox Three!"

_What the hell?_ Yang thought. _We're at sixty miles, too far for—_"Oh shit!" Yang yelled. "Break now, Weiss! Neon's using Phoenixes!" Yang broke hard left, dropping chaff, just like she would if it was a real situation. Weiss dived, but remained pointed at Funky Flight.

"Range Control. That's a miss, Neon." Yang cursed, because she knew she'd fallen for a trick. Phoenixes were best against big targets, like bombers or Nevermores; against maneuvering targets, they were less effective. Neon had simulated firing anyway, knowing that Ruby Flight would break, just as a foxhound would bark to chase the foxes back into the guns of the hunters. Yang came right, knowing she and Weiss were now pulled out of formation, but now she'd hit Funky from the flank.

* * *

Weiss knew the same thing, but also trusted Yang to come back and support. She came out of the dive into a shallow climb. Her DUST system had not lost track of Funky, and she was locked onto Flynt Coal's F-15. "Weiss, Fox Three!" She did a quick break left, then back onto her original course; Flynt was flying an older F-15A, and if the radar hadn't been upgraded, she'd just broken lock. The older radars couldn't keep up with a sudden break. She waited, but her display showed Flynt go into a hard dive, then DUST lost track; he'd gone behind a ridge. Weiss came around to meet him head on.

Out of the corner of one eye, she caught movement and a glimpse of an arrowhead shape. "Yang, Weiss, tally-ho Tomcat, at your three o'clock high." The latter was a guess, but DUST was keeping track of her wingmate too, so it was an educated one.

_He's behind that ridge,_ Weiss told herself, and a split-second later, she saw the F-15 climb hard. "DUST, IRIS!" she yelled, but Flynt rolled over and came straight at her, closing the distance in a second. She switched to guns and climbed to meet him. "Guns—" she began, at the same time she heard Flynt say the same, but the closure rate was too much. They shot past each other, close enough to feel the buffeting of their jet wash, and Weiss grabbed altitude, then broke hard right, knowing Flynt was going to do the same.

* * *

Yang heard Weiss' call, and picked up the F-14, wings raked back to close the range. _Well, well,_ she thought, _somebody likes to speed._ As the Tomcat rolled hard to get in behind her, Yang popped her speedbrake and throttled back a little. A slab of aluminum opened on the F-15's spine, slowing her considerably. Neon flashed below her and stayed in the turn, forced out front and unable to slow down in time. Yang pulled the speedbrake back in. "Bad kitty," she murmured, and swung in behind the Tomcat, settling in for an easy Sidewinder shot. The nose rotated up, then Neon dived, and Yang almost lazily turned to follow—only to be surprised when the F-14's afterburners flared and she climbed away before Yang could react.

"By all means, make it sporting," Yang said, and climbed after the F-14, still trying to lock up for a Sidewinder shot. Neon's F-14 came out of afterburner a good deal in front of her, then rolled over and dived again. Almost as soon as Yang followed, the Tomcat climbed again. "You dirty little bitch," Yang snapped, and followed—only for the same thing to happen again. _Oh, I get it, _Yang thought with a smile. _You're baiting me. Same reason you were giving me shit about my tits on the ground. Trying to get into my head, get me frustrated so I'll make a mistake. Nice try, kitty cat, but I ain't playing your game._ As Neon began to climb again, Yang went into a shallow turn, not following the F-14. She kept an eye on the Tomcat, knowing Kobalt was watching her from the backseat. She saw the nose move, then the wings as Neon hammerheaded around, and slowed a bit more. _C'mon, kitty. Two can play the bait game._ As her opponent hurtled down at her, wings sweeping outwards as Neon slowed down to drop in behind her, Yang counted two, then suddenly broke hard left and slammed the throttle to the stops. _Ember Celica's_ afterburners lit and pushed her back in the seat as the F-15 suddenly left the F-14 in the dust—Neon was out of speed and energy, and Yang had a precious few seconds to do something.

"Weiss, want to switch dance partners?" she called. "Coming in!"

* * *

"Don't…mind…if I…do…" Weiss grunted against nine times the force of gravity. She had turned right, but Flynt had outmaneuvered her, going into a high-speed yoyo and rolling out behind her. Now she was pulling into an even tighter turn, an area where her Typhoon had the advantage: the high-G, close range knife fight. Flynt, however, was staying on her, throwing in rolls to keep from being forced out front, but unable to bring his nose to bear to use his guns.

Yang watched her airspeed blow past Mach 1, then Mach 1.5; below her, the ground shook with a sonic boom. She saw the Typhoon and Flynt's F-15 in the tight spiral, came out of afterburner, rolled away from Weiss and Flynt, then shed airspeed in her own tight turn. A quick glance to her right, and she could see Neon's F-14 charging in, but still out of the game for just a bit. "Weiss, drag him for me!"

Weiss had little choice in the matter: _Myrtenaster_ could actually take more than she could. Blackness crowded the edge of her vision, and even bearing down as hard as she could with the G-suit squeezing her, she was seconds from passing out. She went out of the turn and leveled out.

Then Flynt did the unexpected. Instead of following Weiss for the easy gun kill, which would have left him a nice target for Yang, he also came out of the hard turn, but dived, dropping a shower of flares. Yang hesitated for a moment, not sure if her Sidewinder was growling at Flynt's F-15 or flares, and a moment was all the other pilot needed. He came in under Weiss' Typhoon, in her blind spot. "Flynt, guns, guns, guns on the Typhoon!"

"Range Control; Weiss is a mort."

Weiss acknowledged her "death" by waggling her wings and going level, but now it was Flynt who became the target. He went past, climbing into the sky—and leaving the protection of his flare shower and ground clutter. Now there was no question who her Sidewinder was looking at. "Yang, Fox Two!"

"Flynt is a mort," Range Control reported a second later.

_Now it's 1V1,_ Yang thought, and she saw Neon's F-14 swing in behind her, finally in position and bent on revenge. "Okay, bitch," Yang grinned, "let's see how bad you want this."

And she dived. Her windscreen was filled with the forested ridges of the Upper Peninsula for a moment, then she leveled out, her altimeter showing less than five hundred feet above the ground. Yang grinned as she dodged a ridge, then rolled past a hill, stealing a quick glance into the mirrors set into the canopy bow. Neon and Kobalt were game: they were following her. Down this low, the F-14's radar would be blanked out and the Sidewinders would be guiding on the reflected ground heat, which meant if Neon wanted the kill, she was going to have to do it with guns.

Yang was laughing with the sheer thrill. This was no longer an exercise for her, and she cheated each turn tighter and tighter, to the point that trees were bending in her wake, the ground seemingly close enough to touch, death only a split-second wrong move away. Her heart was pounding, her G-suit contracting, but Yang barely felt it. This was life. This was what she lived for. Neon was still following her, but the Tomcat's wings were cranked out, and Yang thought she saw a little hesitation.

They hurtled into a shallow valley, and now Neon had a chance. She leveled out behind Yang, creeping into guns range, but Yang, her grin turning predatory, eased the throttle forward a little. Before her loomed the end of the valley, a low ridge that was getting closer by the second. If Neon was smart, she'd hold position and wait for Yang to either climb into the sky—to "kill" her the way Yang had Flynt—or to hit the ridge and die for real. Yang was betting that Neon was getting rattled by an opponent who was not flying as if this was merely an exercise. "Come on, Neon," Yang chanted. "Show me what you got."

Neon's nerve broke. The F-14 suddenly climbed, headed for the safety of the sky. Yang pulled the stick into her lap and went into afterburner, enough to clear the ridge by a bare fifty feet, then came out of afterburner and fell in behind Neon upside down, the Tomcat a spreadeagled target in her gunsight. A small touch of the speedbrake, and Yang had the shot she wanted. "Yang, Fox Two!"

"Neon's a mort," Range Control reported, sounding out of breath. "Ruby Flight wins. Jesus, Yang."

Yang laughed as she rolled out, coming alongside the F-14. Neon turned to her, her features hidden behind oxygen mask and helmet. She gave the finger to Yang. Kobalt, however, held up both hands, cupping them as if he was holding two enormous balls. Yang waved, did a victory roll, and headed back for Beacon.

* * *

Ozpin sat at his desk, fingers steepled, trying to keep a smile off of his face. Ironwood was in another chair, and Rissa Arashikaze in a third. A fourth was for Glynda Goodwitch, but Glynda was on her feet, a foot from Yang Xiao Long, who stood at attention, still in her sweat-stained flight suit. "What the hell were you _thinking?"_ she shouted. "God Almighty! You were about two seconds away from buying the farm for real!" Yang was not a good poker player; there was a smirk on her face, no matter how much she tried not to. Glynda's eyes were smoldering. "Wipe that smile off your face, Captain! What were you doing?"

"Winning," Yang replied.

Glynda's hand came up, and for a second Yang thought she was about to get punched by a superior officer. "Don't get smart with me, Long! I will bust your ass down to a slick-sleeve!"

Ozpin decided to step in, because Yang was still smiling and Glynda was on the verge of doing violence to the other pilot. "Colonel." Glynda stepped aside, still fuming, and Ozpin kept his voice even. "Captain Long. As I have said in the past, Vytal Flag rules exist for the safety of you and your team. True, there was no hard deck for this hop, but that's because we trust our pilots not to do something foolish. Which you did. Were you doing this for the cameras, Miss Long?"

Yang shook her head. "No, sir."

"Then why?"

"I wanted to win, sir."

Ozpin sighed. "Which you did," he said again. "All right. We won't officially punish you, but you are confined to base for a few days. You know the Navy term 'in hack,' Captain?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then consider yourself in hack. If this happens again, you will at the _least_ get a letter of reprimand. Assuming you're alive to receive it. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir." She was still smiling.

"Very well. Dismissed, Captain."

"Sir." Yang braced for a moment, executed a parade-ground about face, and marched from the room.

"Captain." It was Glynda.

Yang turned. "Yes, ma'am?" She was fairly certain that Glynda was not through getting a pound of flesh from her.

"Some of the best flying I've ever seen, Captain. But don't do it again."

Yang's smile widened to a grin. "Yes'm." She left the office.


	13. Bad to the Bone

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Really nothing to add on this chapter...it's pretty self-explanatory!_

* * *

__

_Commanding Officer's Office, Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 May 2001_

"There goes someone with a lot to prove to herself," Rissa Arashikaze said towards the door that Yang had just shut.

Ozpin smiled as Glynda finally took her seat. "What do you know about her, Deputy Director of Intelligence of the Central Intelligence Agency?"

Rissa returned the smile. "Yang Xiao Long, daughter of Raven Branwen and Taiyang Xiao Long, both formerly of the United States Air Force. Raven went rogue to steal the Night Raven project soon after Yang was born. Taiyang resigned his commission to take care of his infant daughter, began a relationship with Captain Summer Rose a year later, married a year after that, and they had a second child, Ruby Rose. Major Rose disappeared over the Sea of Japan when Yang was five, though the family was told that she died over the Pacific Northwest in interests of operational security. No body was ever found, and Summer Rose is still officially listed as Missing in Action; Taiyang has refused to change her status to KIA, although he stands to get a lot more in survivor's benefits if he does. Yang Xiao Long, in an effort to emulate Summer Rose, joined the USAF at 17 through special dispensation, was near the top of her class at the USAF Academy, one of the youngest pilots ever to attend Fighter Weapons School, and was given the honor of being lead pilot on the Silent Eagle project. She is 5 foot 8 inches tall, weighs approximately 110 pounds, and has had no serious relationships."

Ironwood leaned back in his chair. "Damn. I guess I need to quit making fun of the CIA."

"We keep tabs on everyone associated with Team Strike, since they were made aware of the Maidens. We have to assume that their children might know something as well. Luckily, Taiyang has made it simple for us by marrying the only two female members of Strike."

"Tai would be very discreet about such things," Ozpin said. "I'm certain neither Captain Long nor Lieutenant Rose are aware of the Maidens."

"We at the CIA don't take chances, until we do," Rissa replied.

"Isn't it illegal for the CIA to spy on American citizens?" Glynda asked. Rissa only laughed.

"As interesting as it is, learning about how the CIA regularly breaks Federal laws," Ironwood put in, "I assume that's not what you wanted to brief us about, Miss Arashikaze."

"No. There's no easy way to say this. Ruth Lionheart was murdered." She told them what had been found in the autopsy. Ozpin sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose under his glasses, while Glynda and Ironwood were clearly shocked.

"But why?" Glynda asked softly. "Ruth was a junior officer. She didn't know anything! She had secret clearance only!"

"I don't know the why, Colonel Goodwitch. Only the how. But if you'd like me to speculate…" Rissa let out a breath. "Barring personal reasons—someone Lionheart pissed off enough to kill her, or an affair of the heart, such as breaking up with someone—my guess is that Lionheart wasn't killed for something she knew, but for something she learned. Something she wasn't supposed to know."

"Like what?" Glynda asked.

"If I knew that, Colonel, I'd be already violating a Federal law by beating the shit out of whoever killed her. There are some people I enjoy doing 'enhanced interrogation' on." Rissa shook her head. "I never met Ruth Lionheart, but I wished I had."

"She had no enemies, and though base scuttlebutt has it that she had a one-night stand with Lieutenant Vasillas, he doesn't seem the type to kill her," Ozpin said.

"That really_ would_ be out of my jurisdiction," Rissa replied. "Unfortunately, it also leaves you with a base full of suspects. I can run profiles on everyone at Vytal, but it'll take some time."

"What's the price?" Ironwood asked.

Rissa smiled. "No price, General. Sometimes we'll do things for free."

"Hmm." Ironwood clearly didn't believe her. "What about her own flight?" Rissa turned to Ozpin, who read off the names: "Major Cinder Fall, USAF; Lieutenant Emerald Sustrai, Spanish Ejercito del Aire; Lieutenant Mercury Black, USAF."

"None of them ring a bell."

"Black got in big trouble after he got drunk and sexually harrassed Oberleutnant Weiss Schnee at the Spring Formal," Ironwood prompted.

"General, if he'd been sexually harassing Lionheart," Rissa returned, "then yes, he'd be suspect number one. But you say it was the Schnee heiress—excuse me, _former_ heiress; Jacques Schnee cut off her funds a few days ago—so we're back to square one." Rissa spread her hands. "And again, this is OSI's baliwick, not mine. I've turned over a handwritten autopsy report to them; Doctor Butcher will simply report cause of death as 'natural causes.' I don't have the time to take over the investigation, and even if I did, I'd be _openly_ breaking the law. I will definitely do those background checks, if you like, but I'm afraid my involvement ends here. It has to."

Ozpin put up his hands. "Easy, Rissa. We're all friends here."

"Of course. I apologize for my tone, General."

Ironwood had a feeling that it was a 'sorry if you were offended' apology rather than a sincere one, but he accepted it with a nod and put his hand out. "We appreciate the effort, Miss Arashikaze."

Mollified, Rissa took the hand. "There's one other thing I can do. I have to go to the UK, and I could accompany the body back to Leonardo Lionheart. Maybe he can give me a few leads. I'll also talk to my counterpart in MI6. It's a long shot, but I have to talk to him anyway about these Huntsmen disappearing over Poland all of a sudden." She got up from the seat. "Anyway…that's my report. Now if none of you mind, I promised Doctor Butcher that I would accompany him into Wisconsin Dells to get extremely drunk and forget we just discovered a murder."

"One moment, Rissa, if you don't mind." Ozpin motioned her back down. "As I said—or at least inferred—the other day, I have a candidate to replace Amber. She's strong, intelligent, caring, skilled, and as of tomorrow, will become a naturalized American citizen. I'd very much like your opinion on her." He started to get up, but Glynda did it for him, walked to the door, and opened it. Rissa got to her feet at the tall woman that almost hesitantly walked in. "Rissa Arashikaze, this is Major Pyrrha Nikos."

* * *

_Building 111713 (Officers' Club)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 May 2001_

Yang got back to the O'Club and went downstairs to the stag bar. Weiss was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, still in her flight suit as well. She ostentatiously checked out Yang's rear end. "Well. I see some of it is still there."

The blonde slapped her butt—Yang's, not Weiss'. "Nah. Goodwitch gave me the red-ass, but even she thought it was cool." They entered the bar, only to find Funky Flight waiting for them. Neon marched up to Yang, even though the latter had a good six inches on her. "You!" she shouted.

Yang really didn't feel like having to go back to Ozpin's office to explain why she'd demolished Neon Katt, but she was prepared to make the sacrifice. "What's up, Shorty?"

"You beat us! You _beat_ Funky! And that flying through the mountains! That was…" Neon's scowl changed instantly to a grin, and she took Yang's hands in hers. "…_amazing!_ I've never seen anything like it! I was so intent on seeing if you were going to buy the farm that I couldn't take the shot!"

"_We_ nearly bought the farm!" Kobalt added. "I had to yell at you to watch for the mountains!" Yang thought the backseater looked a little pale.

"Nahhh." Neon waved it off. "Anyway, let me buy you a drink."

"Does that include Schnee heiresses?" Weiss smiled, but she was staring at Flynt.

"It does," he answered, and stuck out a hand. "That turn you did was damn tight. All I could do to stay with you. And then you dragged me in front of her." He laughed. "Lose sight, lose the fight."

"I was yelling at you to check six," Kobalt said. Weiss was starting to think Kobalt's main job in Funky Flight was to be the only sane man.

"Yeah, man, I just thought I had an extra second to fire and clear." He shrugged, though everyone knew that, had this been a real battle, Flynt, Weiss, Neon and Kobalt might be dead. Still, that was why they trained. "Ah well. Losers buy. C'mon, Schnee."

"Weiss," she corrected. "Call me Weiss."

He nodded and smiled. "Gotcha…Weiss."

They went up to the bar, and Yang had just ordered a beer when Ruby and Blake came bounding through the door—Ruby bounded; Blake just walked. The younger sister ran up and hugged Yang. "Hey, you won! Congrats!"

"I'd like to say it twernt' nothin'," Yang replied, "but these guys gave us one hell of a run." She scooted Ruby over towards Funky. "Funky Flight, this is my little sister Ruby."

Flynt looked at her over his sunglasses, which he had left on despite being inside a dim bar. "No offense, but is she old enough to be in here?"

"Not technically," Ruby told him with a smile, but then she casually looked at the ace board behind the bar. Flynt followed her eyes, looked back to Ruby, then looked at the board again. "Oh," he said. "_That_ Ruby Rose. I thought you'd be taller."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

Blake, who had detoured to the little fighter pilot's room, came out and was introduced as well. Neon gave a start at the sight of her, but said nothing, though she continued to stare. Mainly to get the pink-haired girl to stop looking at her, Blake asked them to break down the dogfight, although she'd watched it on TV, with real-time camera pod footage. She'd overheard one of the TV crews crowing that it was some of the best footage they'd ever captured. Very quickly, the pilots were leaning against the bar rather than sitting, and hands flew intercepts and climbed and dived. Blake knew the old adage that if a fighter pilot's hands were tied, they could not speak.

In the middle of it, the door opened to admit, to Ruby's surprise, Penny Polendina and Ciel Soleil, the woman that had met Penny in the park that night she had confessed what she really was to Ruby. Penny stared around the bar in wonderment—she'd clearly never been in one—and then saw her friend. She dashed forward, and Ruby was reminded of the clone's enhanced strength as she hugged Ruby with enough force to leave bruises. "Ruby, my friend!" She dropped her and bowed to the other pilots. "Salutations, fellow pilots!"

They all stared at her. If Ruby appeared too young to be in a bar, this freckled girl with the reddish hair was even more so; she wore a flight suit, but looked more like a kid playing dress-up than an actual pilot. "Are you for real?" Flynt asked.

Ruby, seeing Penny about to explain that she was indeed real, which might lead to awkward moments and questions, intercepted her. "Penny's the pilot of the B-1 that's on the transient ramp."

"Oh," Neon and Kobalt said simutaneously, and Ruby could see their demeanors instantly change: _bomber pilot._ Someone who had no business being in a fighter pilot bar. Bombers dropped bombs, which clearly any fool could do; one could hardly miss the earth. Fighter pilots were the knights of the air. Nobody made movies about bomber pilots, everyone knew that.

Yang watched with amusement. "She's the one responsible for the Lake Michigan Massacre." She stepped over and put an arm around Penny. "This girl shot down 20 planes that night."

Penny regarded her boots and actually turned a bit red. "Actually, it was only 13."

Funky Flight looked at each other, then at her. "Seriously?" Neon asked.

"Oh yeah," Blake confirmed. "I was there. It looked like something out of an anime. AMRAAMs flying everywhere." She thumbed at Penny. "That B-1 of hers looks like a bomber, but it's a missile platform. They figure out how to put Phoenixes on that thing, and we're out of business, Neon."

Penny opened her mouth—her B-1 _could_ carry Phoenixes—but Ciel threw her a warning look. "_Ne le dis pas,"_ she said, in Cajun French.

"Well, well," Flynt grinned. "_Bonjour, Capitaine _Soleil. Thought I recognized you."

"You would've recognized me sooner if you'd take off those damn sunglasses," Ciel replied, with a smile. "How you been, _garcon de jazz?"_

"You two know each other?" Weiss asked.

"We were in the Coonass Militia together," Flynt said. "In the 159th at New Orleans." He ushered her to a bar seat. "She used to call me Jazz Boy like it's an insult, but she's always borrowing my Miles Davis CDs. You got orders to Eglin, though—Systems Command."

Penny stepped forward. "Oh. She's assigned to me—with me," she corrected, then hiccupped. "Excuse me. She helps me run checks on my B-1, flies chase plane, that sort of thing."

"Sounds boring," Flynt said.

"I've had worse jobs." They fell into conversation, and Penny looked at Ruby. "I came to find you, my friend, because I've gotten permission to show you my B-1 from General Ironwood!"

Ciel instantly turned towards them. "As long as Lieutenant Rose doesn't touch anything, and doesn't tell anyone what she sees in there." Ruby noted Ciel had some rather hard blue eyes. "And isn't in there for more than five minutes. Understood?" She began to get up from the bar stool, but Penny pushed her back. "C'mon, Ciel," she pleaded. "You don't have to follow me _all_ the time."

Ruby tried to help. "Captain, I've got top secret clearance. You can check my file."

Ciel hesitated. "Well…all right. I want you back here in thirty minutes, Penny."

"Certainly!" Penny chirped, and she waved Ruby out the door like two girls going to a sleepover. "Let's go!"

"Are you her mother?" Flynt laughed as he signaled for a beer.

"Feels like it sometimes," Ciel sighed.

* * *

Ruby managed to get Penny to stop dragging her towards the flightline. "Easy!" she giggled. "It's not going to fly away, is it?"

"Well, actually," Penny said, lowering her voice, "it _can_ act autonomously. Project Paladin is actually fully capable of flying a mission completely by itself, including weapons release. However, it's not very smart. That's where I come in. But if something happened to me, it could be guided back to base, even if I was knocked out or…well, you know."

"Kind of creepy," Ruby commented.

"Yeah. But they had to do something. Someone stole the prototype, so instead of the really cool brand new aircraft I was going to get, I got the B-1 instead. Not that there's anything wrong with the Lancer."

"The Bone," Ruby smiled, using the nickname given to the B-1—a play on its designation of B-One.

"Meh, I don't like that. Lancer sounds more heroic."

"Hey, girls!" They turned as Emerald Sustrai ran towards them.

"Oh, hey, Em!" Ruby greeted her. They hadn't seen each other since the funeral. "Heard you beat up on Coffee Flight. Coco was super pissed."

Emerald shrugged. "Tough kitty toenails. She made a mistake, let me get in her blind spot, and that was that. Where you headed?"

"I'm taking Ruby to check out my B-1," Penny replied. "Want to tag along?"

"Heck yeah!" Emerald exclaimed. "I've been wanting to get a closer look. We don't get many bombers in Spain."

They walked onto the transient ramp, where the sleek B-1 was the only occupant. Even as short as Ruby was, she had to bend over to walk under her F-16's nose, but the B-1 towered over all of them. Penny was able to stand on tiptoes and turn the handle that dropped the crew hatch. It descended, extending a ladder, and Penny bounded up. Once in the cockpit, she motioned Ruby to climb up. "I can fit two people up here, but not three," she told Emerald. "Besides, you don't have clearance. I hate to be mean, but can you stay down there?"

"Sure. I'll just walk around a bit."

"That's okay." Penny turned, squeezed past Ruby, and sat in the seat. Emerald did not move from her position underneath the landing gear, where neither of the other girls could see her, and kept her ears open.

"Just a single seat," Ruby observed. "And the cockpit's completely different." She had seen pictures of the B-1's cockpit before, but this looked almost nothing like it.

"Yep!" Penny said happily. "Actually, this cockpit is based on the Silent Eagle's. Your sister doesn't know it, but she's been doing research for me!" Penny laughed. "It takes four people to fly a normal B-1B, but they've automated most of it with Project Paladin. And since my bird is not really a bomber anymore, we eliminated most of that stuff."

"You can't drop bombs at all?"

"I can, but the primary purpose of my aircraft is to engage GRIMM swarms with multiple missiles." Penny looked a little sad. "Eventually, the plan is to convert the entire B-1 force to Paladins, but they'll be drones. There might be a single airborne controller, but most of them will be controlled from the ground…and I doubt I'll be the airborne controller. I suppose they'll have me testing other stuff by then."

"But with your enhanced stuff, you'll get to test out all the really cool aircraft," Ruby said, trying to cheer her up. "Heck, I bet you can take more than this baby can dish out."

It worked. Penny beamed. "Oh yes! I'm rated to 12 Gs. Being in the centrifuge is fun!" Ruby smiled, but her stomach lurched at the thought of having to go through centrifuge training again. Being whipped around in a box until she passed out was not her idea of fun.

Penny started pointing out equipment to Ruby. "I can't tell you what most of this stuff does, but either you can figure it out or even _I_ don't know what it does." She hiccupped. "Anyway, I've got the same radar as the F-15SE, with an enhanced version of the AWG-9 system used in the F-14D, augmented with DUST. The latter was installed by Weiss' dad's company! I'm compatible with Future Warrior too, so if the Army picked up GRIMM like Death Stalkers, they can link to my onboard computer and feed me targeting data!" Penny grinned. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Way cool, Penny. Can I…?" Ruby motioned at the seat. Penny nodded and got up, squeezing into one corner of the cockpit as Ruby sat down. The cockpit was very well laid out ergonomically, with everything within arm's reach, the stick between the pilot's legs rather than a side-stick like the F-16. Visibility from the cockpit wasn't great and Ruby thought to herself that she wouldn't want to take a B-1 into a dogfight, but for standing off and wiping out GRIMM hordes, it would be a very useful instrument. "Uh, Penny?" Ruby patted the seat. "Where's the ejection handles?"

"Oh." Penny gave her a weak smile. "Um…there aren't any."

"What? How the hell do you bail out?"

"Well…" Penny pointed towards the crew hatch. "Manually. I can also jettison the overhead hatch and bail out that way."

"You'd never clear the tail if you went out up there—" Ruby pointed "—and you'd never have time to unstrap and go out the bottom!"

Penny nodded. "Uh huh." She put a hand on Ruby's shoulder. "Ruby," she said in hushed tones, "remember. I'm expendable. I'm considered part of a weapons system. If _Crescent Rose_ goes down, no one cares about the CPU that runs it. If I die, well…there are others."

Ruby shook her head. "No. That's bullshit. Penny, you are a human being!"

She shrugged. "I try to look at it this way, Ruby. I'm a test pilot. Chuck Yeager couldn't bail out of the X-1 if something went wrong. Scott Crossfield couldn't get out of the D-558-2. So I'm just following in their footsteps." Penny gave her a gentle shove. "Before we get sad, let's get out of here. Emerald's probably bored out of her mind." Gingerly, they both climbed out of the cockpit and back onto terra firma. Emerald had quickly moved back to the closed bomb bay, as if she was coming back from the tail.

"One hell of an airplane," Emerald commented. "How does one person do the work of four?"

"A _lot_ of automation," Penny replied, not knowing that Emerald had heard everything—except the part about being expendable.

"Thanks for the tour," Ruby said.

"Same here, even if I didn't get to see the inside. Not one little peek?" Emerald asked. Penny sadly shook her head, and the other girl shrugged. "Nada. I'll buy you a drink."

"Um…I'm actually too young," Penny said, truthfully.

"Then I'll buy you a Coke."


	14. Instruments of Destruction

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry about posting so late. I lost my cushion, so I've spent most of tonight writing this chapter! Anyway, to preserve the element of surprise, more notes to follow at the end. This is something of an infodump chapter._

* * *

_Commanding Officer's Office, Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 May 2001_

"Now, Major Nikos, it is my understanding that you plan on becoming an American citizen, and renouncing your Greek citizenship?" Rissa Arashikaze asked.

"Yes, Miss Arashikaze," Pyrrha answered. She took the seat Ozpin offered, which still saw her almost surrounded: Ozpin at his desk, Rissa, Glynda and Ironwood in chairs facing hers. It felt like a board of inquiry, though she'd been reassured it was no such thing.

"Why are you doing that?"

Pyrrha looked at the floor. "I don't feel I belong there anymore. Yes, I'm a heroine there, but for all the wrong reasons. I can't deal with it. Coming to Vytal Flag was an escape, and I…I feel I've found myself again here. I don't know if the United States is the answer, but I also know I can't stay in Greece any longer."

"You're going to disappoint a lot of people there," Rissa told her.

"I know. I don't feel good about that. But if I go back, I fear for my life. Not from someone else," she assured them, "but that I'll take my own life."

"I assume the Greek government is aware of this?"

"Yes. I will finish out Vytal Flag as a member of the Hellenic Air Force. Then I will resign my commission, renounce my citizenship, and become an American citizen. I've been told—" she glanced up at Ozpin "—that I will be allowed to transfer into the United States Air Force. If I so choose." Her fingers twisted in her lap. "I may retire."

"I doubt that," Glynda said. "As you said, you've really come alive since you joined Juniper Flight, Major. I think you may find that it's not as easy to pull the pin as you think." She looked pointedly at Ozpin.

So did Rissa. "I don't think she's the right person."

"Major Nikos is quite skilled," Ozpin replied. "Her conduct here has been exemplary, and her career has been stellar."

"I agree. And I include Crete in that." She turned back to Pyrrha. "I read the report. All of it. I know you feel quite guilty about that incident, but I don't think you should." Before Pyrrha answered, Rissa continued. "That's not my concern. If you have divided loyalties, you are not fit for this position."

Ironwood fixed Pyrrha with a stare. "You've been informed that you are going to be offered a position of incredible responsibility. Rissa's right: if you take this position, you cannot be loyal to two masters."

Pyrrha nodded, returning his gaze without faltering. "As I recall, General, in the oath of naturalization I renounce all previous loyalties to other countries." She sat up straight in the chair. "What are you asking me to do?"

"Before we do that," Ozpin said, "you need to understand that what we are about to tell you is known to a handful of people in this country, over half of which are in this room. It is beyond top secret. It is the most important secret known to mankind."

Pyrrha opened her mouth, but Rissa interrupted her. "If you're let into this circle of knowledge, Pyrrha Nikos, you will take the secret to your grave. You will not tell your mother. You will not tell that French boyfriend of yours. You will not tell your flight. You will not tell God in prayer, unless it's a silent one. If you break this oath, you will be killed. Anyone you tell will be killed. I will execute these orders personally. I've done it before. Do you understand?"

The steel in the little woman's voice took Pyrrha aback. She hesitated.

"This is your last chance to get up and run out that door," Ironwood told her.

Pyrrha took a deep breath. _No,_ she told herself, _this is the price I will pay. My penance for what I've done._ "I swear to you that I will tell no one. My word is my bond."

"Very well." Ozpin got to his feet. "Major, please follow me. Glynda, James…"

"I'll stay," Ironwood said. "Too many people going into certain areas attract attention."

"I'll go," Glynda volunteered.

"I'll bow out, if you don't mind," Rissa said. "I made my point to Major Nikos." She stood and put her hand on Pyrrha's shoulder. She was short enough that Pyrrha still came up to Arashikaze's small chest even when sitting. "I don't meant to scare you, Major. But I'm not joking about how secret this is. None of us are. I _have_ killed to keep this secret. I won't hesitate to do it again, but I'd prefer not to."

Pyrrha gave a short nod. "I understand, Miss Arashikaze." At no point had she been told exactly who Rissa Arashikaze was, but Pyrrha decided it was better she not know. Rissa patted her shoulder again and left.

"Glynda, Qrow should already be there, but do you want to remind him?" Glynda nodded, and pulled out her cell phone. "Major?" Ozpin showed her out. Ironwood got up as well. "If he's wrong about this," he said quietly to Glynda, "we're all going to be in deep shit."

* * *

Ozpin led Pyrrha across the street to the hospital, retracing the route he'd taken with Rissa the day before. What he didn't know was that he was being observed. The area was in line of sight of the park, and Cinder Fall had been taking her lunches there, on the odd chance she might see something. She'd seen Ozpin and a short woman going to the hospital the day before, which meant nothing. But now she saw him again, this time with Pyrrha Nikos.

Cinder watched, finishing her sandwich. She waited a little longer after they went into the hospital, then saw Glynda Goodwitch cross the street as well. A little while after that, Ironwood came out and got into his car. "Interesting," she said, smiling. "Very interesting."

She opened a bag of chips and finished her lunch. Patience was a virtue.

* * *

Pyrrha and Ozpin went through the same hallways, to the same room, and through the same hygienic procedures. They went down the elevator to Amber's room, where Qrow Branwen waited. Pyrrha's hands went to her face at the sight of Amber. "Who is she?" she asked.

"Your predecessor," Ozpin said simply. "I wanted you to see her, and so did she. Rissa told you the consequences of breaking silence. Amber is what happens when someone _else_ learns of you." Ozpin put his hands behind his back, gazing at the broken woman in the bed. "Sometimes it is better to be blind than to see."

"What is going on?" Pyrrha said, though she kept her voice down for Amber's sake; the other woman looked to be asleep, her chest barely rising and falling. Ozpin said nothing, but Pyrrha jumped when the elevator behind her opened, admitting Glynda. He nodded to her, then motioned them to seats, though he remained standing, the cane behind his back. Qrow sat next to Amber, reaching through the plastic to gently stroke her remaining arm.

"A history lesson, to start," Ozpin began. "In October 1962, as you are aware, the United States and the Soviet Union went to war over nuclear missiles being placed in Cuba. Why the war started doesn't matter, only what happened next. Millions died in the nuclear exchange, and it was considered a limited one. The Soviet Union ceased to exist, the survivors reduced to a Middle Ages existence. Parts of Europe, such as the British Midlands and parts of both Germanies, were destroyed. Most of the West Coast and Northeast United States were also destroyed, but the United States, somehow, survived—a Remnant, if you will.

"In the aftermath, what was left of the United Nations convened in Geneva in February 1963. Most of the world's nuclear weapons had been expended, but the United States in particular, as well as Britain and France, still had a few left. Though it had been the Soviets who had fired first, the UN believed that the United States also bore some responsibility. President Kennedy, who had been evacuated from Washington DC only minutes before it was destroyed—he had lost his entire family in the destruction of Washington—did not quite agree, but offered to disarm and render inert all remaining nuclear weapons, over a period of ten years, if all other nuclear powers at that time also agreed. They did, and the Treaty of Geneva, which led to universal nuclear disarmament, was signed in November 1963."

"I was aware of that," Pyrrha said, keeping her voice neutral. The Treaty of Geneva was taught in grade school, and Oobleck's lectures had reinforced it.

"Of course," Ozpin nodded. "What you don't know is that there was a secret collorary to the treaty. _Almost_ all nuclear weapons were destroyed by 1973. But secretly, each nuclear-capable nation was allowed to keep twenty devices, until 1984, when the remainder were indeed destroyed. By that time, China had acquired nuclear weapons, but this was not considered an issue."

"Why not?" Pyrrha asked. "I'd think any nation with nuclear weapons would destabilize the world."

"It sure would," Qrow put in. "If we didn't already have something that was _worse_ than nukes."

"Arguably worse," Ozpin said. Suddenly, he looked very old. "And here is where we go down the rabbit hole, Pyrrha. Again, I ask you: are you willing to do this?"

Pyrrha looked at Amber. The poor woman looked close to death. "May I ask one question?" Ozpin nodded. "What happened to her?"

"Some people found out that Amber was privy to the same secrets you may be," Glynda said. "And they shot her down and tried to capture her, or at least kill her. Qrow was able to rescue her, but to say she was badly injured would be a gross understatement."

"Will she live?" Pyrrha saw Glynda slowly shake her head. The Greek woman stood, walked over to the plastic, and stared for awhile at Amber. The room was silent except for the whir and beep of machines keeping Amber alive. "All right," Pyrrha said.

Ozpin continued. "By 1984, four of the five major powers in the world—the United States, the European Union, Japan, and Israel—signed another secret agreement, the Strategic Defense Initiative. To counter China's nuclear weapons, any other groups that might acquire nuclear weapons, and mass GRIMM attacks that threatened the existence of any of the four treaty members, each of the SDI signers received a single weapons satellite. No one knows who coined the term, but they were all codenamed the Maidens."

"Maidens?"

"Someone's idea of a joke," Glynda said; she looked at Ozpin as she did so, though Pyrrha didn't notice.

"Each Maiden is named for a season," Ozpin said, ignoring Glynda. "The Fall Maiden is controlled by the US. Winter is Europe's. Spring is Israel's, and Summer is Japan's."

Pyrrha turned away from Amber, shock on her face. "And they're in orbit right now?"

"Three of them are," Ozpin replied. "The Spring Maiden malfunctioned. Israel relies on its military prowess to defend it from its enemies—though nowadays the Arabs generally leave them alone. However, it is strongly believed that, when the Spring Maiden failed, Israel merely armed itself with nuclear weapons—assuming they didn't already have them. We don't ask, and—" Ozpin smiled "—they don't tell."

"Orbital nuclear weapons." Pyrrha suppressed a shudder.

"Nope," Qrow corrected her. "Not nukes."

"Kinetic energy rounds," Ozpin said. "Each Maiden carries fifty rounds. Each round is a tungsten rod weighing ten tons. When fired, the gravity well of the planet itself and its own propulsion causes it to accelerate to speeds up to, and exceeding, ten times the speed of sound. When it hits, it will hit with the same lethality and destruction as a ten kiloton nuclear weapon—without the residual radiation."

"It's meant mainly to stop a massive GRIMM attack," Glynda added. "But the existence of the Maiden also ensures that each of the three nations can prevent an attack on the others. Should the EU attack the US, for instance, we could retaliate against every European city. And because the Maiden's weapons are so fast, they cannot be intercepted."

"Rods from God," Qrow sighed.

Pyrrha sat down. "My God. That explains why China never used its nuclear weapons during the Reunification War."

"No. Beijing was warned after the Maidens went operational of their existence. They also knew Japan needed little provocation to use the Summer Maiden if they so chose," Ozpin replied. "Since China has been reunified, there is talk of adding a fifth Maiden for China, but that is still in negotiation." He shrugged. "I suppose I might as well tell you. Until China gets a Maiden, it is allowed to maintain fifty nuclear weapons for balance—secretly, of course."

"Balance of terror," Pyrrha said.

"Exactly. The same mutually assured destruction the world operated under with nuclear weapons. A policy that, sadly, failed."

"What's to stop it from happening again?" she wanted to know.

Qrow leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. "That's where you come in, kid."

Ozpin nodded, and finally took a seat, scooting it close to Pyrrha. "The Maiden can only be fired with the permission of three people: the leader of the nation, a senior military official, and…a junior military official. The latter is selected by those who know about the Maidens in each nation, and they are selected for high trustworthiness, ability to make quick decisions, and…their humanity. They also must be fighter pilots."

"Why?" Pyrrha asked.

"Because we're in the air a lot of the time," Qrow answered. "Damn hard to get to us." He looked at Amber. "Most of the time."

"The reason why there are three is obvious," Ozpin said. "All three must agree to weapons release. If any one person disagrees, the Maidens are not used. In the old days, with nuclear weapons, each missile launch crew was provided with two keys, which had to be turned simutaneously and both had to agree. In fact, some missiles of all three nations involved in the Third World War _refused_ to launch based on that agreement. The third person was added to provide an added layer of responsibility. The fact that the third is also a junior officer means that a bunch of tired, old people are not in charge of the power to devastate the world a second time." Ozpin chuckled. "I suppose it is the last vestige of the Victorian Era, when women were put on pedestals, that all of the junior officers chosen thus far have been women. It is the idea that women, as traditional nurturers and mothers, might be more reluctant to unleash hell than men."

Glynda laughed with irony. "Apparently they didn't realize back in the 80s that we ladies can be every bit as murderous as men." She shared a quick glance with Ozpin: both were thinking of Salem. But explaining that mystery would need to wait. Pyrrha had enough to absorb as it was.

"Especially every 28 days," Qrow grinned. Glynda gave him a good-natured middle finger.

Ozpin cleared his throat, getting them back on track. "The three people who have control of the Fall Maiden are President Shawcross, myself, and Amber." He pointed to her. "All of us have a device nearby to us at all times. For the President, it is the briefcase carried by his personal aide. For myself—" Ozpin held up his cane. "And for Amber, it is that box on her wrist. For the junior officer, the box measures heart rate and respiration. There is a small keyboard beneath the flap. Should heart rate or respiration cease, the device activates a small thermite charge inside within three minutes and is rendered inert. Should Maiden release be authorized, the officer will type in their personal keycode, chosen by the officer and known only to them." Ozpin ran a hand over his cane. "If all three codes are accepted by the satellite, it becomes available to use. Coordinates can then be typed in by any one of the three, and the Maiden fires."

"My God," Pyrrha repeated. "What about the EU's—the Winter Maiden?"

"The Winter Maiden is controlled by the President of the EU—currently Sleet van Geffen. The other two are Supreme Allied Commander Europe—SACEUR—and a member of the Luftwaffe, whose name you don't need to know." Ozpin smiled. "It's not a Schnee, if you're wondering." _Not yet,_ he added to himself. Freya Gletscher was junior only in name, was actually advanced in years, and not in good health. Once she died, Winter Schnee was on the short list of people to replace her. Unknown to everyone but Ozpin, so was Weiss Schnee.

"Isn't SACEUR always an American?" Pyrrha observed.

"Yes. The EU felt that there were too many old rivalries between the European nations, but Americans have no skin in the game," Glynda said. "Don't ask about Japan. Even we've never been told by the Japanese who controls the Summer Maiden."

"So let me get this straight," Pyrrha said, using an expression she'd heard Nora use. "If I accept, I will have that box on me at all times—"

"Or nearby," Ozpin interrupted. "In theory, we could even build it into a circlet, like the one you like to wear."

"—all right. And I would be responsible for possibly concurring in the death of tens of thousands of people?"

"Yep." Qrow withdrew his flask, took a drink, and offered some to Pyrrha, who refused. "That make you sick?"

"Yes," Pyrrha replied.

"Good," Ozpin said. "Because that is why we chose you. Myself, Glynda, Qrow, Ironwood, and now Rissa Arashikaze. Someone who wants the power can't be trusted with it. Someone who hates the power _can_ be trusted with it. And if you're wondering about Crete," he told her, reading her mind, "that figured into our decision. You regretted your actions over Crete, even if they may or may not have been the correct ones. Someone who will think before they take a step like Maiden release is someone we want in that position. Someone who understands personal responsibility."

"And because I'm planning on becoming an American…" Pyrrha began.

"Your name shot to the top of the list," Glynda finished.

There was another long stretch of silence. Then a fifth voice entered the conversation. "If…you're done…with the…infodump," Amber said hoarsely, "can I…talk…to her?" Her hand raised weakly and motioned towards Pyrrha. "C'mere, you."

Pyrrha got up and went over. "Hmm," Amber said with a tired smile. "Redhead. Don't think…I agree. Gingers…don't have souls." Both started laughing, though Amber's laugh degenerated into a wheezing cough. When she could, she raised her hand again. "Hi there. Amber Tardor."

"Pyrrha Nikos." She shook Amber's hand through the plastic.

"Um. Good grip. Whatcha…fly?"

"F-16," Pyrrha answered.

"Viper driver." The smile broadened. "Me too." She seemed to summon up what remained of her strength. "You believe…this bullshit?" Pyrrha paused, then shook her head. "Yeah. Me…neither. But…true. All of it." She inclined her head towards the box on her wrist. "I like you…already. I think…you…you'd be okay. But…y'know…give it a few days."

"Amber," Ozpin warned, "we may not have a few days."

To their surprise, Amber struggled up to almost a sitting position, balancing on her only arm. "I'm…not dead yet. I'll last longer…than that." She grinned. "Fuck you…Oz. Give her time."

Ozpin was quiet for a moment. "48 hours. No more."

"More like it." Amber collapsed backwards, gasping. Pyrrha took her hand and gripped it tight. 

* * *

_AUTHOR ENDNOTES: So those are the Maidens. It may seem a bit of a reach, but this story kind of is in general. The idea of "kinetic energy rounds" has been around since the 60s (Heinlein uses them in _Starship Troopers_), so no, I didn't get the idea from Call of Duty. However, I greatly increased the amount of damage kinetic rounds can do; they actually can't hit with quite that amount of destructive impact. But the technology exists, and it wouldn't be surprising if something like the Maidens already exists in some form. Having a "three key" system involving someone like Pyrrha or Amber is very unrealistic, but it keeps the RWBY Maidens without actually having magic._

_The possibility of Kennedy surviving a nuclear war resulting from the Cuban Missile Crisis isn't unrealistic. Helicopters were on five minute standby to get the President clear of the blast zone (with 10-15 minutes between launch from Cuba and impact), but there was no provision for evacuating JFK's family. I slightly borrowed that from the book of _Fail-Safe.


	15. The Things We Do For Love

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A little bit of a bad guy chapter this time around. And the torture that Rissa describes are real methods. The ropes were used by the North Vietnamese during the Vietnam War, and are frighteningly effective (as well as absolutely horrific for the damage they do to a human body). The lack of sleep is an old KGB trick, and even worse than physical torture: during Stalin's purges, the NKVD would keep people awake for 72 hours, after which they would sign any confession Stalin required-just for a little sleep. Rissa Arashikaze might work for the good guys in this story...but that doesn't mean she's a good person. (This will also be her last appearance for awhile, as she is an OC.)_

* * *

_Building 121215 (Base Correctional Facility)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_12 May 2001_

"Nobody knows…the trouble I've seen…" Roman Torchwick dragged his shoe across the bars. He tended to do this. The guards, stationed at the far end of the facility, had learned to ignore it. Eventually, they knew he would get bored, which indeed did happen.

Torchwick walked over to his bed and flopped on it. He'd been here just over a week now, and no one had come to visit him, other than the guard who brought him food three times a day. Not even Ironwood. He wasn't sure if he'd been merely forgotten, or they were trying to break him with isolation. He was the only one in the facility, so far as he knew.

He sat up when he heard the guards open the door. There was a clock on the hallway wall; he'd already had dinner, so this was unusual. He heard boots on linoleum, but the tread was light, not like one of the guards or Ironwood. For a moment, he thought it might be Neo, as incredible as that would be.

It was not Neo, though the woman that came into view was about Neo's height, possibly even shorter. She was an older woman, though not unattractive. "Well, hello there," Torchwick smiled. He jumped to his feet and executed a deep bow. "I am the world famous air pirate Roman Torchwick. And who might I have the honor of addressing?"

The woman gave him a curtsey. "Hello, Roman Torchwick. My name is Rissa Arashikaze. I'm from the world famous Central Intelligence Agency."

Torchwick paled. Ironwood had warned him about this: if he didn't talk about the future plans of the White Fang and Salem, he would be facing the death penalty as an air pirate—though he would get a trial. Ironwood had also mentioned the very real possibility that there would not be a trial: he would be simply turned over to the CIA and would disappear. And now it seemed the latter was frightening reality. "Oh," he said, his cheery demeanor vanishing.

"I see our reputation precedes us." Rissa leaned against the bars. "So, what should we talk about today?"

"I don't know anything," Torchwick told her. It was not quite the truth—he knew about the Black Queen computer virus—but beyond that he really did not know very much.

"I doubt that _very _much," she said sweetly. "And, not to be cliché, but I _do_ have ways of making you talk." She regarded her fingernails. "I'd prefer not to use torture, but I'm more than prepared to do so." She faced him and smiled. "You've probably heard it referred to as 'enhanced interrogation,' but I don't like flowery words. I don't use 'extraordinary rendition,' I take you somewhere no one's ever heard of. I don't 'service targets,' I kill them. And I don't use 'enhanced interrogation,' I torture people until they tell me things they don't know."

Torchwick could not stop an involuntary swallow. "So, like…waterboarding?"

Rissa laughed. "Waterboarding is what they do in fraternities during Greek Week. I put people in ropes. I insert things in places things aren't supposed to be inserted. And then there's my personal favorite: lack of sleep."

Torchwick blinked. "What?"

"Mm-hm. After 72 hours without sleep? You'll be _begging _to tell me whatever you know, just for five minutes to close your eyes." Rissa's smiled faded to a more neutral expression. "Or, you know…we can just talk."

He sat on the bed and thought. He had no loyalty to the White Fang—in fact, he had grown to dislike Sienna Khan thoroughly. Her incompetence had cost him two hideouts and probably his gang. This Salem sounded frightening, but he wasn't even sure she existed. He could tell what little he knew, and not only avoid torture, but the firing squad. It meant life in prison, but that was better than the nothingness of death, and much better than whatever this half-pint psychotic was planning. He found himself smiling a little: she _did_ remind him of Neo.

And that was why Roman knew he could not tell them. Salem or Sienna might not be able to get to him, but they could get to Neo. The thought of her in the hands of the White Fang, who were known to flay humans to death, made his blood run cold. For Neo, then, he would risk it.

"The things we do for love," he murmured.

"I'm sorry?" Rissa asked. She wasn't quite sure she'd heard him.

"I've told Ironwood everything I know," Torchwick said sadly. "And I can't tell you what I don't know. No matter how much you torture me."

Rissa watched him for a moment. She was now sure he was hiding something, but she also knew that there was a good reason why he would be hard to break. She would break him—everyone broke sooner or later—but it would take time, which was not something she had at the moment. She couldn't very well put him in the ropes at Beacon. "Very well," she said evenly. She waved in the guards. "You're being transferred to Fort Leavenworth Military Prison, where you will be put on trial for air piracy, conspiracy, terrorism, and murder. The penalty will be death by firing squad. But before then, you'll see me again." She smiled again. "So give it some thought. Goodbye, Roman Torchwick." She said it with a note of finality.

He watched her leave, and sighed as the guards began unlocking his cell door. "I already have," he said.

* * *

Emerald Sustrai stopped, wiping sweat from her brow. "Whew." She'd always been a runner, though growing up, her running hadn't been voluntary. Though she no longer had to run, she still did, because one never knew when it might come in handy. On Cinder's orders, she'd taken to jogging down Arryn Avenue, to the main gate and back to the VOQ, around dusk. Her route took her past the base jail. She couldn't be too obvious about it, but Cinder saw it as a way to keep tabs on whether or not Roman Torchwick was still there. She figured that, if Torchwick was moved, there would be a security convoy moving him. Ironwood was rarely subtle. Emerald was happy to obey Cinder's orders, because it gave her time to think, though she wasn't sure what the point of thinking was: she was in too deep to get out now. If she ran, they would hunt her down, and Emerald was tired of running.

She took a breath, stretched, and to her surprise, saw a group of camouflaged HMMWVs stopped in front of the correctional facility, with base security police cars flanking them. As she watched, several men in body armor and helmets led a man out dressed in orange fatigues. He was quickly led to one of the HMMWVs, but not before she recognized Roman Torchwick.

Emerald knew police all too well. Instead of immediately running or jogging away, she merely remained where she was, and kept stretching, balancing on one foot while she brought the other up around her back. Given that she was dressed in a sweat-stained T-shirt and very tight biker shorts, and the fact that Emerald was quite attractive, it was enough to stop any man in his tracks. The Security Police definitely noticed her and appreciated the show, but by staring at her, they did not suspect the real reason she was there. By the time she was finished stretching, the sound of trumpets echoed across the base, presaging 'Taps' and the lowering of the flag. Emerald came to attention, faced in the direction of the base quad, and saluted as the prisoner convoy drove past her. Then she calmly jogged back to the VOQ.

* * *

_Covert Base Hector_

_Formerly Fargo, North Dakota, United States of Canada_

_12 May 2001_

"Always good to hear from you, Cinder. I'll be sure to give Aunt Chestnut your love. I'll let you know about our travel plans just as soon as I talk to her." Arthur Watts made a kissing noise. "Good night, love." Then he hung up the phone, leaned back in the swivel chair for a moment, and grinned beneath the thick mustache before he got to his feet, left the dusty office, and walked down the corridor to the base's main hangar.

Inside, there was a soft buzz of activity. The night was a time to work for the White Fang at Hector; during the day there was too much chance of detection from either GRIMM or, worse, the US military. Watts passed under the wing of a USAF C-130 that had landed two days before. It was intact. Its crew were filling a shallow grave behind the hangar, along with the men and women that had worked at Hector—before it fell to the White Fang a week before.

Sienna was in one corner of the hangar, surrounded by four of her men. As he approached, she punched at two of them and kicked at the others, landing solid hits on the padded blocks each man held in front of him. She saw him and dismissed the four, who bowed to her and left. "Arthur," she greeted him, turned, bent over, and grabbed a towel. He admired the view: Faunus or not, Sienna was lovely. It helped that she was dressed in a workout suit that did little to hide her assets. The stripes on her arms and legs, and the large ears atop her head did not at all take away from her exotic beauty. She straightened up and noticed him staring. "Why, Doctor Watts, I didn't know you cared."

He inclined his head. "My apologies, High Leader. I did not mean to stare."

"Yes, you did. But that's fine." She dabbed her forehead. "Besides staring at my backside, did you have something to report?"

"A great number of things. We should meet."

"Very well." She raised her voice. "Octavia!" A female White Fang, who had been field stripping a M4 carbine, stood and came to attention. "Find Adam Taurus and have him meet us in the briefing room."

"Neo Politan as well," Watts added. "This concerns her."

* * *

The briefing room was a small room at the base of the control tower. It had been the senior controller's office, and it was a bit crowded with all four of them in it. Sienna sat in one of the chairs while Adam took the other. Both had towels draped across their necks; he had been working out as well, practicing with the katana that never left his side. Dressed in stolen workout gear, he still wore the mask; Watts had never seen him without it. Neo was dressed in her flight suit: sullen and silent, she had been what she usually did in her waking hours, besides brooding: doing maintenance on her borrowed F-22.

"I just got off the phone with Cinder Fall," Watts began. "We may have to move up the schedule a little. It seems we've gotten a break."

"Oh?" Sienna inquired.

"Yes. Cinder tells me that Penny Polendina has returned to Beacon with her B-1. That may mean nothing to you, but it means a great deal to me. Miss Polendina's B-1 is known to me as Project Paladin, and that's because I designed and installed most of its systems while I was working with Schnee GmbH. The aircraft is a prototype for a standoff weapon for use against GRIMM hordes, and can be entirely flown remotely."

Adam smiled. "Let me guess. You left yourself a backdoor into the system."

"Not quite, but I can hack into it without too much trouble. Once in, I can create all kinds of havoc."

"Enough to distract Beacon from an assault?" Sienna asked.

"Enough to put our plan into motion, in conjunction with Cinder. It's a revised version of Wedding Party, but aside from the attack on La Crosse—which is no longer necessary after the United States Army kindly withdrew all but a single brigade of the 1st Armored Division from the Mississippi Barrier—the effects will be much the same. Whatever I do with the Paladin B-1, Cinder will then launch her portion of the plan, and the White Fang will launch its assault."

"And Salem?"

"Naturally, my communication with her is spotty at best, but I have been assured that the GRIMM will attack the barrier around the same time. She has something special planned—something I'm assured has never been seen before. And before you ask, I have no idea what it is. All I need do is send her the signal 24 hours in advance and it will be on the way."

"A coordinated attack," Adam mused. "Let's hope it works this time."

"It should. We have had more time to prepare, and now that we've…acquired…a C-130, it will make penetrating Beacon airspace to be much, much easier."

"Very well," Sienna said. "When do we go?"

"Four to five days. Will that be adequate?"

"More than adequate," Adam answered. "We could go within two days if necessary. And the sooner the better. We've gotten lucky that the only aircraft that has landed here has been a C-130 with engine trouble. Sooner or later, it will be a combat aircraft or two, and they will get off a report."

"Indeed." Watts paused. "There is one other thing, and this concerns you, Miss Politan." She'd been studiously ignoring them, but now her head came up. "Roman Torchwick is no longer at Beacon. He's being moved."

Adam scooted his chair away from her, and Neo scowled. "Fuck," she snarled.

"However," Watts added, "I might could learn his intinerary. I have access to the US military's data network. Their most secure prison is Fort Leavenworth in Kansas; depending on the route they use, we might could rescue him."

Neo's eyes seemed to light up, and for the first time since he'd met her, Watts saw her smile. Sienna glanced at her, and also scooted her chair over a little. "I don't think that's a good idea."

The small woman's smile instantly disappeared. "Fuck you!"

Sienna sighed. "Trust me, Neo, I would love to rescue Roman Torchwick." Her tone indicated otherwise. "But we could compromise the mission. And before you tell me where I can put the mission," she said, as Neo opened her mouth, "our survival is _your_ survival."

"Still," Adam spoke, "let's at least look into it. We've been very quiet, and I imagine that's made the Americans rather nervous. At some point, someone will notice us here. If we were to attack Roman's captors, it might distract them away from Beacon. They'll be looking for us elsewhere."

"Unless they track us back to Hector," Sienna told him.

"Why should they?" Adam countered. "It's at least looking into." He reached back, and to Neo's surprise, took her hand in his. "The things we do for love, eh? I know a little about that."

"I'd noticed," Sienna growled. "All right, Doctor. If you can find the route, then _maybe_ we'll try something. But don't get your hopes up. I won't compromise the mission for your boyfriend."


	16. House On Fire

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A lot going on in this chapter-it's the longest one I've posted so far. Enjoy._

_More notes at the end._

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_13 May 2001_

Technical Sergeant Darren Yorse watched as the rest of the ground crew lifted the DACT pod into position on _Ember Celica's_ starboard outboard wing station. The orange-painted pod, which resembled a Sidewinder without the fins, would feed telemetry back to Beacon's computer, which in turn cataloged the simulated missile shots. Once Yorse was satisfied the pod was in place, he ducked under the F-15's fuselage. On a cart lay the camera pod that would go on the centerline. Once that was on, he could start fueling the aircraft for the day's operation. He ducked back out and went past the cockpit, unable to resist patting the six kill marks painted there behind the bright yellow nose.

One of the crew bread trucks pulled up to the revetment, and Yorse instantly recognized Emerald Sustrai; there weren't too many dark-skinned girls with green hair on base. "Morning, Lieutenant," he greeted her.

"Hey, Sarge." She handed him a clipboard and several forms. "Captain Ozpin's ordering your bird and Mercury's to carry live rounds today. There's been some GRIMM sighted over Minnesota, so—just in case they stray into the exercise zone."

Yorse looked over the sheets. "Captain Long already signed off on this?"

"Yeah. I ran into her on the way over."

Yorse saw that the forms were all signed the way they were supposed to, by Ozpin and Yang Xiao Long. It didn't make any sense to him, but there were quite a few times the United States Air Force did things that didn't make any sense to him or anyone else. "All right then…full load of twenty mike mike. Got it." He signed the forms. "Why do they have you doing this, Lieutenant?"

Emerald shrugged. "Major Fall told me to do it and gave me the forms. I just saluted and said 'yes, ma'am'." She grinned. "I just work here, Sarge."

"Hear that, ma'am." He handed the forms back, keeping one for his own records. They exchanged salutes, and Emerald climbed back into the truck, driving off in the direction of Mercury's F-16. Yorse sighed, shaking his head. This was going to add a few more minutes to preparation.

* * *

Mercury Black put on his G-suit as Cinder watched. "I want it on record," he said in a low voice, although they were alone in the equipment room, "that I think this is a terrible plan."

"If I wanted your opinion, Mercury, I'd rattle the toilet paper." Cinder handed him his survival vest.

"What's stopping Yang from stitching me right across the canopy?" he protested.

"Nothing. You'd just better hope she doesn't."

He threw on the survival vest and scowled. "You don't really give a shit if she kills me, do you, Cinder?"

She smiled. "Nope. A few weeks ago, I might have cared. But that was before you decided to be a psychotic dumbass and kill Ruth Lionheart. So now, I really _don't_ care if Yang gives you a 20 millimeter suppository."

He smiled back. Neither smile held any humor. "So what's stopping me from going to Ozpin and blowing the whole lid off this scheme?"

"Nothing…other than being tried for first-degree murder. Assuming you get that far before you meet with an accident." Cinder motioned towards the front door. "Go for it, Mercury."

"Fuck you." He finished getting dressed. "One of these days, Cinder, you and I are going to have a nice little talk."

"Don't threaten me with a good time." She slapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck." Cinder blew him a kiss and walked to the door. It opened to admit Yang. "Oh, hello there, Yang."

"Whassup." To Yang's surprise, Cinder held up a hand for a high five. She was in too good a mood to refuse. Cinder shut the door behind her, and Yang saw to her dismay that Mercury was in the room as well. They had avoided each other since the dance. He'd apologized for it, but Yang tended to bear grudges. She ignored him as she opened her locker and began pulling out equipment.

"Hey." Mercury sounded tired. Yang grunted in reply. "Okay, look," Mercury began, "I know you don't like me, and that's fine. I probably deserve it. But I was thinking…you want to do something cool? For the cameras?"

"Like what?" Yang started putting on the G-suit over her flight suit.

"Guns only. Let's do some Red Baron shit. Guns only from the six." Mercury added the last for his own survival: guns only was part of the plan, but if Yang decided to do a head-on gun pass, he probably _would_ die.

Yang paused. That _would_ look pretty cool. She didn't like missile shots anyway, unless she was fighting GRIMM; going in for guns was old school, what her ancestors would've done—though she wasn't sure if she had any ancestors who were fighter pilots. "Sure."

"Cool. See you up there." Mercury didn't bother shaking hands; he knew Yang would refuse. Instead, he picked up his helmet bag and headed out the door.

Yang smiled at his back. "I'm going to enjoy this, you piece of shit," she whispered.

* * *

_Regency 26 (E-3A AWACS)_

_Eberle Line Track 2, Near Valentine, Nebraska, United States of Canada_

_13 May 2001_

Airman 1st Class Heather Cummings watched her radar screen, and fought down a yawn. She remembered the old saying that military service was long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Today was most certainly the former. She wished she'd switched schedules with someone, since the 1V1 round of Vytal Flag sounded really good today. Oh well—someone back at Regency's home base of Tinker AFB would record it.

Then she picked up a blip at the northern half of her sector. Her radio crackled. "Regency 26, this is Rock 22, C-130 out of Hector, flying air test, over."

Cummings remembered Rock 22. It was a C-130 flying from Ellsworth to Winnipeg that had engine trouble and had put down at Hector a few days previously. Apparently the engine trouble had been enough to ground it, or so Hector had reported. "Rock 22, Regency 26, go ahead."

"Roger, Regency. Report GRIMM fifteen miles west of Detroit Lakes…raid count about six, seven Beowolves."

Cummings leaned closer to her screen, and flicked a switch to increase the gain on the radar spinning above the E-3's fuselage. "Rock 22, Regency, I have no contacts that sector. Angels and heading?"

"Ah, wait one, Regency." There was a brief moment of silence. "Angels about two or three, heading three one zero."

Cummings sat back in her seat. Even at that altitude, the E-3's powerful radar was capable of picking up GRIMM. The formation would be heading southeast, which would put them on course for Beacon, but Beowolves were subsonic; it would be an hour before they would get to the Mississippi. "Rock 22, Regency, still no contacts."

"Well, Regency, if you want to come over here and look, you're welcome to. We're turning back for Hector until clear skies."

She smiled in spite of herself. An unarmed C-130 was easy meat for GRIMM; she couldn't blame the crew of Rock 22. "Understand, Rock 22. Will pass it on. Regency monitoring, out." She watched for a moment as the blip of Rock 22 turned around and headed back to Hector, then signaled for the attention of the senior controller, a captain. "Sir, Rock 22 just passed on a spot report of six or seven Beowolves heading southeast near Detroit Lakes." She tapped her screen as the captain bent over her shoulder. "He's headed back to Hector."

"Wasn't Rock 22 the C-130 that made an emergency landing with a bad engine the other day?" The crew of Regency 26 had been up that day.

"Yes, sir. They were air testing the new engine."

The captain wondered where Hector had gotten C-130 engine parts, but it was one of the covert bases, so there was no telling what they had stashed there. "That's the first GRIMM sighting we've had in over a week," he mused. Then he nodded to her. "Contact Beacon and let them know."

"Sir, they're not on scope. Rock 22 reported them at two or three thousand feet AGL, but I've got nothing."

The captain shrugged. "Maybe the Herky crew saw birds or something. Anyway, we can't let it go. Contact Beacon and let them know. They haven't been running a CAP since La Crosse, but they might want to, even with the big 1V1 fight today."

"Yes, sir." Cummings thumbed a switch to open a channel to Beacon. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw the blip that was Rock 22 disappear as it approached Hector. She thought she saw something else, but it faded in and out of contact. Then she heard a call from Army ground radar on the Eberle Line and picked up three new slow contacts heading south from Minnesota.

* * *

_Ten Miles North of the Eberle Line_

_Near Lake Park, Iowa, United States of Canada_

_13 May 2001_

Sienna Khan sat in a jumpseat behind the two pilots and adjusted her headset. The inside of the SH-3H Sea King helicopter was loud, and she had to turn up the volume to hear. She glanced out the open door of the helicopter. Another Sea King was only a hundred feet away, a third behind them, and the ground below was closer than that. As she watched, the helicopters began to climb. She took a deep breath. Now they had to trust in Arthur Watts.

"Unidentified aircraft, Lake Park. Identify yourselves." The voice on the radio was strong and authoritative.

Sienna heard Adam Taurus answer. Since his Moonslice would be picked up by the AWACS, he had joined the ground attack. "Lake Park, this is Black Sabre. Our signal is Rainbow, repeat, Rainbow."

"Black Sabre, Lake Park. Authentication."

Sienna found herself holding her breath. Black Sabre and Rainbow were two codes Watts had extracted from the computers at Hector—codes for Army Long-Range Reconnaissance Patrols that entered the Dead Zones on occasion. If they got the authentication wrong, the next message would likely be a Patriot surface to air missile. The raid to recover Roman Torchwick was based on the hope that Watts' hacked codes would work, and that the SAM crews on the Eberle Line were complacent—after all, the only enemy that ever came south from the Minnesota Dead Zone were GRIMM. "Authenticate Alpha Lima Sierra," Adam radioed.

There was a few seconds of silence, and Sienna closed her eyes. If they were going to die, so be it; there were worse ways to go than as a martyr to the cause, though she would personally like to die killing some Schnees, not rescuing a damned air pirate she didn't like anyway. "Black Sabre, Lake Park. Authentication acknowledged. Identify."

"Lake Park, Black Sabre is three helicopters, destination Sioux City." This was another chance: Adam had considered that the Sea Kings were older helicopters, usually used by the Navy; actually identifying themselves might raise some eyebrows.

The gamble paid off. "Roger, Black Sabre. Cleared through."

Sienna let her breath out, and she heard the six White Fang operatives in the cabin do the same. A few minutes later, they passed over the Eberle Line. It was little more than a ten-foot wide elevated berm, with a two-lane road behind it, but in the distance they could spot bunkers built where farming communities still dotted the landscape. An observation tower passed by, and the two men inside waved at the helicopters. One of the strike team waved back: all of them were wearing fatigues captured at Hector. Each helicopter was painted a dark gunship gray, with subdued US markings. Army helicopters were almost always UH-60 Blackhawks or UH-1N Hueys, but Sienna hoped that the soldiers would simply assume that someone up the chain of command knew why a supposed Army group was flying Navy helicopters. Eventually, someone would ask the right questions, but by that time the White Fang would've either succeeded or died.

The Eberle Line fell away behind them, and the landscape became the rolling farmlands of northern Iowa, rather than the wild, overgrown prairies of southern Minnesota. The three helicopters began curving to the southwest. As a small, brown river slid past beneath them, Sienna splayed her hands towards the strike team. Each one grabbed a white mask from their backpacks and put it on.

The helicopter crews spotted a copse of trees and landednext to it. "Go, go!" Sienna ordered, and both strike teams piled off the Sea Kings almost as soon as the wheels touched the ground. She disconnected her headset and followed them out. Both helicopters then rose back into the air and resumed their flight roughly to the southwest, but much slower this time. The third, which had not landed, followed them.

Sienna crouched in the wheat, counted off her people to make sure they were all present, then waved them forward. They moved through the wheat at a quick run, until they reached a two-lane highway. Sienna stopped next to a highway sign showing this to be US Highway 18.

Adam did the same. He was wearing fatigues like the rest of them, but his sword was strapped to his back, although he carried a carbine. Sienna carried a scoped rifle on her back. "Let's hope Watts' information was good," she told him.

"Indeed." They had agreed to wait no longer than half an hour for the convoy. After that, they would retreat back to Minnesota; the Eberle Line's defenses and radar faced north, and the AWACS would have other things on its mind by then.

"All right. Remember the plan, Adam," Sienna told him. She saw a slight rise and another group of trees. "That will be my position. You hold on the opposite side of the road—there you are." The last was addressed to Ilia Amitola, who emerged puffing from the wheatfield. "Sorry," she said. "I damn near stepped on a snake back there."

"A rattlesnake?" Adam asked.

"No idea. I didn't stop to ask."

"Right," Sienna continued. "Ilia, hold here. Once the convoy is stopped, get Roman as quick as you can. He's probably going to be in the middle. Signal if you see him."

"Yes, High Leader." Ilia motioned her six-man group back into the wheat and disappeared.

Sienna quickly ran across the road, up the small hill, and threw herself down behind the rise. She unstrapped the rifle and her pack, balanced the rifle on her pack as an ersatz bipod, and sighted in the scope. She then put a cover over the scope so the sunlight would not reflect on it, and waited as Adam's team took up position in front of her.

* * *

"So who do you think Michael Vick is going to this year?" Sergeant Ryan Hofer asked the driver of the HMMWV.

"Santa Fe. Unless Atlanta trades up for him." The driver eased off the gas a little. "Jesus, I wish these cops would pick a speed. They keep speeding up and slowing down."

"Where are we?" asked Roman Torchwick from the back seat. Next to him was a Security Forces trooper, who kept a wary eye on him. They had stopped in Prairie du Chien for the night, and Torchwick cooled his heels in county lockup, watched by both local police and one of the men in the HMMWV. He dozed since they got up this morning, as there wasn't much to see in northern Iowa.

"What do you care?" asked the driver.

Hofer decided to be neighborly. "About an hour or so out of Sioux City, man."

"Going the long way around, are we?"

Hofer didn't answer him. They were taking the long way around to a certain extent: Beacon to Prairie du Chien, then to Clear Lake, then across to Sioux City, where they would pick up Interstate 29 through Omaha to St. Joseph, then across the Missouri to Leavenworth. Des Moines would be too difficult to get a convoy through; as it was, they'd had to notify local law enforcement for the whole way to get escorts. At the moment, it was two Iowa Highway Patrol cars ahead and behind the three HMMWVs.

He glanced down at the map. They were between two towns, Sanborn and Hartley. He then checked his watch. "At least we're making good time. We're ten minutes ahead of schedule."

* * *

Sienna rested her head on her pack, but then she raised it. Her ears, sharper than a human's, detected cars. So far there had been none, but as it was a lazy Sunday morning, it didn't surprise her. She pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked. It was a convoy of two police cars, the silver of the Iowa Highway Patrol, and three camouflaged HMMWVs. "That's them," she whispered in amazement. "Well, I'll be damned." She set aside the binoculars and pulled out a whistle, and blew three short blasts. Then she popped off the cover on her scope and settled the sight on the first police car.

* * *

"I just hope the Chiefs pick someone decent this year," Hofer said, but then he saw a glint off and to the left. "Hey, did you see that?"

* * *

Sienna slowly blew out her breath and pulled the trigger. The rifle cracked, the stock going back into her shoulder. She was already chambering a new round.

The bullet traveled the distance between her position and the first police car in less than a second. It went through the windshield and caught the driver in the left eye. As he died, his hands spasmodically jerked the steering wheel to the left. The car skidded and then flipped over onto one side, blocking the road. The convoy hit the brakes, but then the second police car exploded. One of Adam's team decided not to show much in the way of finesse, and a lot more in overkill: he fired a Javelin into it. The flaming wreckage coasted into the back of the last HMMWV.

"What the _fuck!"_ Hofer shouted, reaching down to grab his M4. "What the hell just happened?"

Torchwick stared out the window. Something flickered in the wheatfield; something familiar.

* * *

Sienna fired into the windshield of the first HMMWV: the windows were not armored, but bullet-resistant, and it slowed down her bullet enough that the driver's helmet, rather than his skull, took the worst of it. She mouthed a curse, then smiled as she saw a smoke grenade roll out of the wheatfield to the left. It went off beneath the middle HMMWV, releasing a cloud of red smoke.

"He's in the middle one!" Adam shouted. Another Javelin was fired into the third HMMWV, which was backing up, knocking back the burning wreck of the police car, but now it too was blown apart, further blocking the road to the rear. Sienna shot the driver of the first one again; this time her bullet hit him in the face, knocking him out. The SF man riding shotgun tried to grab the wheel and drive out of the ambush, but two of the White Fang rolled grenades beneath the HMMWV. The explosions didn't destroy the hardy vehicle, but they crippled it and set it afire.

"Oh shit! Oh fuck!" Hofer screamed. He raised the M4, but if he opened the door or tried to get out through the roof, he was a dead man. Already there were men and women coming out of the wheatfield, wearing masks, and surrounding the HMMWV. "Oh, Holy God! White Fang!"

"Oh dear," Torchwick said, smiling. "It seems this is a rescue."

"You shut the fuck up! Bobby, put a gun to the fucker's head!" The SF trooper next to Torchwick pulled out a pistol and put it to Torchwick's temple.

"We're fucked, dude," the driver groaned.

"The hell we are! Floor it!" A bullet hole appeared in the windscreen, and a bullet thudded into the driver's shoulder. He yelled in pain and blood flowed out from between his fingers as he gripped it.

"Men in the vehicle!" Hofer turned and saw a red-haired man wreathed in the smoke. "Step out immediately! If you do so, you will not be killed!"

"Sarge, we gotta do it!" Bobby exclaimed. He kept the pistol against Torchwick's head nonetheless.

"They're White Fang! They'll fucking kill us anyway!" Hofer pulled a dressing out the glove compartment and started bandaging the driver's shoulder. He flinched when another bullet hit the top of the windscreen; where it ended up, he didn't know.

"I know these people," Torchwick said calmly. "They won't kill you." He pointed at the second bullet hole. "They have a sniper out there. I imagine those are warning shots. The next one will kill one of you." He smiled at Bobby. "Come on, man. They don't pay you enough to die." They all heard a thump from the door next to Bobby. "I would imagine that's a satchel charge. They'll blow the door off, and then you, Bobby, will be dragged out and probably flayed alive." He stared at him. "They'll listen to me."

"All right. All right." Bobby went to open the door.

"Bobby, do _not_ fucking open that door!" Hofer warned.

"I'm doing it, man!" Bobby opened the door slightly, tossed out his pistol, and raised his hands. "We're coming out!" He opened the door fully, and hands reached in and pulled him out. Hofer let out a horrific string of curse words, then did the same. He tossed out the M4 and came out with his hands behind his head.

Ilia saw the sergeant step out of the vehicle and dropped her camouflage; she had been creeping up to the side with a small ball of plastic explosive to try and disable the locks. "Stand still! Keep your hands behind your head!" One of the White Fang drew a wicked looking curved blade, but Ilia snapped at him. "Leave him be!"

"He's a human!" the Faunus answered.

"I said leave him be!" she shouted. The White Fang pulled back. She kicked the M4 aside, then reached forward and pulled his pistol out of his holster. "Strip him of his body armor and helmet," Ilia ordered, and two burly White Fang threw Hofer against the HMMWV. He submitted to the none too gentle stripping, and watched as Torchwick was let out of the back seat. He shrugged at the sergeant. "I'm sorry our trip has come to an end, Sergeant Hofer," Torchwick said. "It was fun while it lasted."

"Fuck you," Hofer growled, which earned him a punch in the face.

Once his helmet and body armor were gone, along with a knife he had in his boot and the keys to Torchwick's cuffs, Ilia ordered him to lay on the pavement, face down, hands out to either side. The cuffs landed next to him, and the scene was illuminated by a flare.

Torchwick walked around the HMMWV, massaging his wrists. "Well, hello there, Adam."

Adam Taurus had Bobby, the wounded driver, and the four men from the first HMMWV on the side of the road. Of the first HMMWV's crew, one was unconscious, and the other three were burned; they had opened their doors rather than burn to death. He smiled at Torchwick. "Long time no see."

"Well done operation. I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," Adam grinned. "But your girlfriend just wouldn't stop talking about you."

"Neo? Where is she?"

"Around." He called out to Ilia. "All of them out?"

"Yes, Adam."

"Good." Sienna jogged up to them, rifle and backpack back on. They could hear the helicopters approaching. "What should we do with the prisoners, High Leader?"

"They did treat me decently," Torchwick said. Though he'd been known to kill prisoners himself, he'd only done so to get ransom paid faster, and never killed wounded people. He didn't particularly like killing.

Sienna ignored him. "They don't have anything we need. Strip them of usuable gear and weapons and kill them. We don't have time for anything elaborate."

"Wait!" Bobby screamed. His helmet had been pulled off by a White Fang, who was now wearing it as a trophy. "You said—" Adam drew his sword and cut his throat in a single stroke. The man clutched at the wound as blood sprayed out, hitting Torchwick in the face, then he fell over, twitched twice, and died.

Ilia drew her knife from her belt. Hofer closed his eyes as he felt the cold steel against his temple, then couldn't help but cry out as he felt the blade slice through his forehead. Blood poured down his face, and he jumped as a pistol went off. To his surprise, however, the bullet hit the pavement next to him.

"Stay very still." He heard Ilia's voice, low and quiet, and felt her hands wiping blood off his face. "It's a head wound. It will bleed, but you won't die. Don't move. Right now I'm using your blood to draw a White Fang symbol. Stay still; you're supposed to be dead. Don't talk. If you understand me, move your left index finger." He moved it just a little. "Good. We're leaving. Wait at least ten minutes after you hear the helicopters take off. Don't use the radio for thirty minutes; your transmissions will be intercepted and they'll come back and kill you." She wiped off more blood. "Tell Beacon an attack is coming soon, within the next few days." He felt her kneel down next to him and take his high school ring off. "I'm looting your body so they don't suspect. Goodbye, Sergeant. I'm sorry I couldn't save all of you."

Then she was gone.

* * *

Torchwick followed Adam into the wheatfield, feeling sick to his stomach. All eight men from the HMMWVs were dead; he supposed it was a mercy that they were simply shot in the back of the head. One of the Iowa troopers had survived the crash of the first car; he was killed as well. Torchwick had seen Ilia using the blood of Sergeant Hofer to smear a crude White Fang symbol on the side of the HMMWV; others had done the same thing. Still, he supposed, it was better than being on the way to Leavenworth, or being tortured somewhere.

The two helicopters landed and Torchwick was pulled into the first, behind Sienna. They were on the ground for only seconds before they took off again. He slipped on a headset. "How did you find me?" he asked her.

"Doctor Watts," she shouted back. "The Army notified local law enforcement where the convoy would be going. He was able to piece together your route by hacking into the Iowa Highway Patrol."

"The timing—"

"He added up what he thought would be average driving times, stopping for lunch, dinner, that sort of thing." Sienna grinned, which was somewhat frightening. "He guessed!"

"Good guess," Torchwick said. "Hope he's got some more magic up his sleeve, because we're going to be shot down in about five minutes when we hit the Eberle Line."

Sienna was worried about that as well. "That's where your girlfriend comes in!"

* * *

_Regency 26 (E-3A AWACS)_

_Eberle Line Track 2, Near Valentine, Nebraska, United States of Canada_

_13 May 2001_

Cummings watched her radar return. "Hey," she nudged the controller sitting next to her. "Are you seeing this?"

"Those three contacts that keep wandering around western Iowa?"

"Yeah. They're supposed to be Army helicopters, but they're acting kind of weird."

The other controller nodded. "We should let the senior controller know—wait, what the hell is _that?"_

Cummings looked at her scope. It was the same flickering, as if the AWACS' radar was having trouble locking on, but then the contact firmed up. "Unidentified aircraft at Chamberlain Waypoint, this is Regency 26, identify—" Suddenly she was thrown out of her seat to the floor of the fuselage as the AWACS heeled over on its left wing, then she had to grab for the side of the console as it dived. "Hold on to something!" the senior controller yelled.

"Yeah, no shit!" Cummings screamed. "What the hell is going on?" Given the practical impossibility of bailing out of an E-3, there was a good chance she was about to die, but all she could feel was annoyance.

The other controller had managed to keep his seat. "We're spiked!"

"Who the hell is shooting at us?"

Twelve miles away, Neo sighed. She could see the AWACS twisting and diving away from where she locked onto it. She'd come down from Hector at low level, trusting on the ground return and the F-22's stealth to keep the AWACS from getting a good lock. At the right time—when, with any luck, Sienna Khan's strike force would have rescued Roman—she popped up, locked her radar onto the E-3, and opened the Raptor's weapon doors, which was more than enough to establish her on radar. She didn't press the trigger, though she wanted to: the AWACS was easy meat for any of her weapons. Still, she held fire, remembering Adam Taurus' advice. A raid to free Roman Torchwick would lead to the US military looking for them, but it would be relatively low priority. Shooting down an AWACS would cause the military to suspend Vytal Flag and comb every inch of the Dead Zones. Sienna had taken a chance on Roman; Neo would return the favor.

She idly kept her radar fixed on the AWACS, then she fired a Sidewinder—well out of range and out of parameters, but enough that the E-3 crew would see the missile plume. Then she closed up the missile doors, turned, pushed the throttle up, and headed due northwest.

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTES II: I did some research on this (which, among other things, ensures I'll never be elected to Congress) and talked to a friend who is former USAF Security Forces. Apparently, the pre-Second Gulf War HMMWVs were only bullet-resistant rather than bulletproof, so Sienna's sniper shots would not have been insta-kills. Still, there's probably some suspension of disbelief here, and I hope my readers will forgive anything I got wrong._

_And yes, the Atlanta Falcons really did trade up in 2001 to get Michael Vick. _


	17. Shatter Me

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Mercury vs. Yang. This one's been building for awhile._

* * *

_Yooper Air Combat Range_

_Michigan, United States of Canada_

_13 May 2001_

Yang maintained a spread formation with Mercury. They would stay that way until Range Control cleared them in to begin their fight. In a level, spread formation, neither would have the advantage. As soon as Range Control called that the fight was on, Yang intended to grab altitude, and force Mercury to fight in the vertical, on her terms. The F-16 was better in close-range knife fights, but the F-15 ruled supreme in the vertical plane. Of course, Yang mused to herself, Mercury was smart enough to realize that as well. _Don't underestimate him,_ she told herself. It was a bad habit of hers.

"Yang, Mercury, this is Beacon. Go to Channel Three." Yang did so, curious. They were usually on Guard, so their radio transmissions could be heard by the people on the ground and edited for broadcast. Channel Three was restricted. She checked in as soon as she made the radio change. "Be advised GRIMM were sighted over the Minnesota Dead Zone," the controller at Beacon radioed. "Nothing big, but enough to issue an advisory. Their last course would put heading southwest, but they could turn towards you."

"Great," Mercury replied, "and we're up here unarmed. What are we supposed to use, bad language?"

"If GRIMM should move into Yooper, you are to disengage and head south. Cardinal Flight is on alert five, and they will take care of the problem. Acknowledge." Both did, and switched back to Guard frequency.

They flew on in silence for another few minutes, and then Range Control came on. "Good morning, lady and gentleman. We are set up for a 1V1 hop. Hard deck for this hop is 1000 feet AGL. This is a visual only engagement, so only heats and guns. Mercury, you will approach from the north; Yang, from the south. Yang, assume holding pattern present location. Mercury, maintain heading and we'll tell you when to turn around at 20 miles. Good luck, folks. Range Control out."

Yang and Mercury exchanged one final look at each other, and then she made a lazy turn, setting up a circling holding pattern while he accelerated out of sight. She held the stick between her knees as she tightened up her straps and mask. Then she tried to control her breathing as adrenaline flooded her system. She flexed her fingers on the stick and throttle, and her toes inside her boots. _Come on, come on!_ she thought. _Let's do this!_

"Range Control: fight's on."

Yang immediately slammed the throttle forward and pulled the stick into her lap, climbing hard into the spotless blue sky. She throttled back and leveled out at 25,000 feet, then rolled out upside down, pulling the nose down slightly. "Where are you, you son of a bitch…" she said aloud, though she kept her finger off the radio button. Her eyes weren't quite as good as Ruby's, but they were still superb. She caught movement, and then saw the F-16 streaking across the forested hills. Mercury was in a straight line, probably expecting her to do the same, though he should've detected her by radar if nothing else. _Not paying attention, Merc?_ Then he must have spotted her, because the F-16 suddenly made a hard left break. Yang opened the throttle again and dived, quickly closing the distance. She saw that he was only a little bit above the hard deck, which meant he might be trying to sucker her into going below it, and get an easy "maneuevering kill." _Not today, you little prick,_ Yang thought, and skidded in behind him, still well above the hard deck. She centered the gunsight on his engine, but then Mercury broke hard right, forcing her into an overshoot.

"Nice try," she said, and Yang threw _Ember Celica_ into a high-speed yo-yo, trading speed for altitude, and still ending up behind him. She edged closer to him as he went into a left break, then suddenly reversed back into her. Yang did the same, the two passed close enough to see each other in their respective cockpits, then reversed again—going into a horizontal rolling scissors. _Dammit, Yang!_ she yelled at herself. _Quit playing his game! This is what he's good at!_ The F-15 was twice as heavy as the F-16, and though it could turn well, Mercury could pull it tighter. Sooner or later, he was going to get inside, and it would be all over but the bragging.

"Okay, fuck this," Yang spoke, and as they crossed each other for the fifth time in as many seconds, she disengaged and climbed, then almost immediately rolled out in an Immelmann and pointed the nose down. Mercury had been surprised by the sudden climb, realized Yang was about to be in a perfect position for a diving gun pass that would stich his F-16 from stem to stern, and made another hard right break, cheating the turn so tight that she couldn't keep the gunsight on him. She came out of the dive, rolled to kill some of her forward momentum, and went into a lag pursuit, bleeding off speed as much as she dared. It was working: she had ended up in one of the F-16's few blind spots, and Mercury couldn't see her. Her gunsight pipper centered on the other fighter's exhaust pipe, and she caressed the trigger—but before the gun could fire, Mercury had shot upwards in a hard climb.

Yang grinned, because even if it had ruined her sight picture, he was now entering her territory: the vertical plane. She climbed after him, shouting "Now you done fucked up, boy!" But then Mercury, still in the climb, rolled towards her, forcing her to do the same, and now they were in a _vertical_ rolling scissors. Once more, the F-16's smaller size was working against Yang: Mercury would not lose speed in the vertical any more than she would, but he could still turn tighter. As Yang grunted with exertion, trying to stay level with the F-16, she knew both were slowing down, flirting with a stall. But she wasn't afraid: Yang's School of Dirty Tricks was now in session. The people watching on TV were going to get one hell of a show.

Fighting against the G-forces, Yang reached out and opened her speedbrake. The big metal slab on the F-15's spine opened, instantly slowing her down. Mercury ended up out in front, and as Yang retracted the speedbrake, he dived away. It was really his only chance, but even that was a mistake: she let _Ember Celica_ fall backwards, rolled, and caught Mercury in the dive, heading for the hard deck. Yang was pushed back into her seat as she hit her afterburners, rapidly closed the distance, then throttled back. The pipper was on the curved back of the F-16. "Boom-shaka-laka!" Yang crowed on the radio, and pulled the trigger. "Yang, guns, guns, guns!"

She'd expected nothing but silence for three seconds; pulling the trigger just activated the gun camera that would display Mercury getting simulated killed for the world to see. She was startled by the vibration she felt through the stick, and to her horror, she saw cannon shells—_her_ cannon shells—marching from the refueling port in the spine of the F-16 to its engine. Flames instantly erupted from the other fighter, and the tail separated as it pitched upwards. Yang instantly pulled her finger from the trigger, but the damage was done: the F-16 was finished, already stalling out. The canopy blew off and she saw Mercury eject; Yang pulled off to the left, afraid she'd run over him.

"Oh my God!" Yang screamed. "Vytal Flag, knock it off, knock it off! Mercury's down! Mercury's down!"

"Range Control, Vytal Flag, knock it off," the controller echoed. There were no other aircraft up, but it was to let Beacon know they were shutting down the exercise. "Yang, what happened?"

"I don't know!" she yelled. "Got a good chute—Range Control, scramble SAR!" She watched the remains of the F-16 disappear into the forest and explode. She flew past the fireball to get a better look at Mercury. He was dangling in the parachute, and there was no response. "Range Control, Mercury's not responding. Going down at…" she consulted the map in her right kneepad "…grid square 54-40."

"Roger that, Yang. Remain on station."

"Understood, Range. Assuming RESCAP." Yang orbited the parachute and jazzed her throttles, deliberately surging the engine to try and get Mercury's attention. His body looked intact, but injuries were depressingly common in any ejection. _Oh God,_ she thought, _what if his neck's broken? What the fuck happened? I'm not supposed to have live rounds! Why didn't Yorse tell me? _She slammed a fist on the side of the cockpit. _Because you didn't ask, you stupid ass. You didn't even check._ They had been flying without live rounds for a week, and it had become instinctual not to look. She saw the round counter on her HUD; were the ammunition drum empty, it would've read zero. It read 310. _What the hell happened?_

"Yang, this is Jehovah." Yang closed her eyes for a minute. Ozpin. "RTB as soon as Cardinal is on station."

"Roger," she replied. She watched as Mercury's parachute disappeared into the forest. Frantically, she called out for him to come up on his survival radio, or on his beeper, but there was only silence.

* * *

Yang landed at Beacon and taxied to her hardstand. She saw a camera crew standing next to the hardstand, as well as several Security Forces keeping the newspeople back. _They know,_ she thought. _Of course. The camera pod was sending out that shit live._ She touched the brakes and shut off the engines, then sat in the cockpit for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. She didn't like Mercury Black, but she hadn't wanted him dead. On the way back to Beacon, she'd heard the rescue crews calling for Mercury, but there was still nothing. Parajumpers would begin looking for him, as the wind might have carried him further in the forest.

There was no more putting it off, so Yang opened the canopy and began to unstrap as Sergeant Yorse placed the ladder and climbed up. She looked at him. "What happened, Sarge? Why did I have live rounds?"

"Captain, you ordered me to load live rounds." Yorse had anticipated his pilot's question, and handed her the form. "You signed off on it. So did Captain Ozpin."

"I didn't sign shit!" Yang exclaimed. "What the fuck!" She just stopped herself from grabbing him. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"Because you signed for it!" Yorse protested. "I figured you already knew! Why would I tell you what you already knew? For God's sake, Captain, didn't you check?"

"No," Yang admitted quietly.

"Captain, you got to come down. There's cops down there waiting for you." He looked past her to where another car had just pulled up. "There's Captain Ozpin."

"Shit," she breathed, then finished unstrapping. It made perfect sense. Complacency: Yorse assumed she knew, since she'd signed off on loading live rounds, and she never checked, because she assumed everything was going as usual. She followed Yorse down the ladder, then Yang took off her helmet, shook out her hair, and put the helmet in its bag. Two of the air police walked towards her, and Yang saw that one was already getting out handcuffs.

Ozpin hobbled over there first, however. He dropped his voice. "Put those away, man!" he said to the policeman. "She's not under arrest."

"Sir, I was ordered by General Ironwood to detain Captain Long—"

"To _detain,"_ Ozpin emphasized. "Not arrest. And I command here, not General Ironwood." The man nodded and put away the handcuffs, and Ozpin turned his attention to Yang.

"Sir—" Yang began.

"Not right now. Let's get away from these cameras." Ozpin sighed. "Captain Long, until a court of inquiry can be convened, you are to be confined to quarters. You will be guarded. If you leave without authorization, you will be arrested and put in the brig. Sergeant Yorse, you will be permitted to finish postflighting Captain Long's aircraft, then you will also be confined to quarters. Do both of you undertand?"

"Yes, sir." Yang came to attention and saluted. "Sir, I don't know—"

"Save it, Captain," Ozpin said tiredly. "Save it. Ironwood and I will be by later to talk to you. I'll give you a ride back to the barracks." He started walking back to the car.

"Oh God." Yang knew her career was probably over. At the least, she'd be found guilty of negilgence. And if Mercury was dead, it could end up as manslaughter. She would never be able to fly again; even if she got out of the USAF, no airline would have her, and she knew an airliner would never be able to match up to the F-15. She began to cry, but then remembered the cameras were on her, and angrily wiped away the tears. Yorse pressed the form into her hands. "Captain," he said, and she turned to him. "Keep the faith. Maybe it'll be okay."

"Yeah." But Yang knew it would never be okay again.


	18. Nowhere to Run

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_13 April 2001_

James Ironwood walked down the hallway to Ruby Flight's quarters. It was easy enough to find: there was a Security Forces air policeman stationed outside of it. He came to attention as the general reached the room. He nodded to the policeman, then entered the room.

The room was full. Ozpin was sitting at the room's desk, while Ruby Flight were sitting on Weiss' and Blake's beds. Ironwood noticed the flight had separated: Weiss and Blake were opposite the two sisters, and Ruby had an arm around Yang. Zwei sat next to her, sensing her depression and trying to alleviate it. The window was open, letting in a cool breeze as afternoon became evening.

"Lieutenant Rose, Oberleutnant Schnee, Captain Belladonna," Ironwood addressed them. "I would like to speak with Captain Long alone, along with Captain Ozpin."

Ruby got to her feet, came to attention, and defiantly faced Ironwood. "Sir, with respect. We're not going anywhere. She's part of our flight. We want to know what happened more than you do."

Ironwood hesitated, but only for a moment. "Your loyalty is noted. All right. Maybe you can help with this, then." He got the room's only other chair, turned it around, and sat down. "Captain Long, let's start with this: what the hell happened out there?"

"I don't know," Yang said quietly. "We were in the furball. He came out of the vertical and went for the hard deck. I caught him and went to guns. I called it and pulled the trigger so the gun camera would get the film. And next thing I know, I'm blasting away." She stared into space. "It happened so fast…I don't know why it happened."

"I do," Ironwood said. "You had live rounds loaded onto your F-15, in contravention of standing orders during this segment of Vytal Flag."

Yang suddenly shot to her feet. Zwei yelped and almost fell to the floor. She went over to the dresser, grabbed the half-wadded up form, stalked over to the general, and thrust it at him. "Look at this," she demanded, and stood there.

"Captain Long, sit your ass down or I'll tack on insubordination to the charges you already face." Ironwood stared Yang down, and she went back to the bed. He smoothed out the form, and his eyebrows went up in surprise. "You signed this, and so did…"

"Me," Ozpin finished, the first time he'd spoken since Ironwood walked in. "Which is rather interesting, since I don't recall ever signing such a document."

"Me neither," Yang added.

Ironwood ran a finger over his stubble; he was thinking of growing a beard, though it was likely to come out gray, the way his week was going. "Captain Long, grab a piece of paper and sign your name to it." Yang nodded, tore a sheet out of one of Weiss' notebooks lying on the bed, and scrawled her name. Ozpin walked over and signed his name below hers, then handed the sheet to Ironwood. He compared the signatures. "They're identical," he said. "But you don't remember signing it."

"I think what you're looking at, James, is a very clever forgery," Ozpin said.

Ironwood put both pieces of paper on the floor, so they could all see it. "All right. Let me play devil's advocate, because there's going to be a court of inquiry, and they'll ask the same question. Who would forge your signatures, and why?"

"The logical suggestion would be someone who wanted to frame Captain Long for the murder of Mercury Black."

Weiss spoke up. "They found his body?"

"No," Ironwood replied. "CSAR is still looking, but they didn't find him or the parachute. They found the wreckage—what was left of it. It's a big forest, so the body might've been blown some distance. The other possibility is that it fell into the fireball."

"No way," Yang said. "I tracked him until he went into the woods."

"We'll find the body. Let's not get distracted here," Ozpin told them. "Who would want to frame you, Captain?" he asked Yang.

"I don't know. I haven't pissed anyone off that bad."

"But you had motive." Ironwood held up a hand. "Wait a second before you start telling me off. Remember, devil's advocate. At the dance, you said, and I quote, 'He says anything about my sister again, and I'll kill the motherfucker.' Probably forty people heard you say that, Captain, and every one of them will get called in as a witness. Including me." He faced them. "None of you have been watching the news, I imagine, but you've made all the networks. And all the idiot talking heads are wondering if one of our pilots went berserk and killed another one, or this was just a revenge murder for one thing or another. And you, Yang Xiao Long…if you're not a household name, you will be soon. Your camera pod was live, and it got some beautiful shots of you gunning down the F-16. And since you decided to yell 'boom shaka laka' over the open radio net, they picked that up, too."

"Oh, fuck," Yang moaned, and put her head in her hands. "Oh, fuck."

"And since it's a slow news week, everyone's jumping on it. The only reason your phone isn't ringing off the hook from CNN or Fox is because they don't know it yet. I imagine it's only a matter of time until they figure out where your dad lives and try to get an interview with him, and an even lesser amount of time before they dig up your past, and your dead mother. And then they get the shrinks out and, next thing you know, you've got repressed memories, PTSD, and an unstable fighter pilot who snapped under stress."

"That's not fair!" Ruby shouted. "That's a damn lie!"

Ironwood stood and laughed humorlessly. "Of course it is. But what none of you realize is that the media of this country has always had a love-hate relationship with the military. They love us when we win and hate us the rest of the time. They blame us for the Third World War and they've never forgiven us for it." He stabbed a finger at Ozpin. "When Oz got back from saving his fucking carrier, some reporter came up to him and asked what it was like to kill someone."

Ozpin chuckled. "I remember that. I had to explain to her that I had shot down GRIMM. She thought I had killed human beings. And she actually looked a little disappointed that I hadn't."

"If it bleeds, it leads," Blake quoted. She knew that quote by heart: the White Fang had gotten adept at manipulating the media, and Sienna Khan knew how to get on network news herself.

"Exactly. And now Vytal Flag is bleeding, and the media smells the blood in the water."

Ozpin sighed. "This was what I feared. Not this exactly," he assured them, "but an accident of some kind. Instead of Vytal Flag being held up as a representation of what our military does, it becomes a bludgeon to use against us. It's too expensive, it's too dangerous, it invites GRIMM attacks, and so on."

"It invites GRIMM attacks?" Weiss asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's absurd."

"But people believe it, Oberleutnant. There are many who believe GRIMM are attracted to negative energy." Ozpin shrugged. "The media aside, we need to get to the bottom of this, and soon, if for no other reason than to clear Captain Long's name. And mine. Someone framed us both, and we need to find out who."

Ironwood nodded. "All right. In the meantime, however…and I'm sorry, Captain…you are confined to quarters. We'll have your meals brought to you, and there will be a guard."

"Isn't that a bit much?" Blake asked.

"It's for your protection as much as anything else," Ironwood replied. "If the media is speculating, then so are other people. And we don't want them coming up here." He looked at the others. "Ruby Flight, you're also grounded, for now. Your 1V1 round is over in any case. However, you're not confined to quarters, and in theory not confined to base, but it won't be long before the press figures out who all of you are—at the very least you, Ruby. My advice is to stick to the base until we figure out what the hell is going on."

"I'm planning on doing that with everyone," Ozpin said. "And to hell with what anyone thinks. There's too many strange things happening here."

Ironwood and Ozpin headed for the door. Yang spoke before they reached it. "General Ironwood, Captain Ozpin…do you believe me?"

Both stopped. Ozpin nodded, and left. Ironwood said only, "I want to believe you," and closed the door behind him.

* * *

They walked down the hallway. "This is a bad business," Ozpin said lowly. "First Ruth Lionheart, now Mercury Black."

"Someone's got it in for Creamer Flight." Ironwood rubbed his forehead. "It gets worse, Oz. I didn't tell Ruby Flight, because they don't need to know, but we found out who attacked the E-3 this afternoon."

"Who?"

"The White Fang. It was a diversion. While we were chasing whatever locked up the AWACS, the convoy with Roman Torchwick was hit. He got away. There was only one survivor."

"Good God," Ozpin groaned.

"Yeah. I'm having the survivor brought back here so we can debrief him."

"Why would the White Fang rescue a human?"

"Torchwick knows something. They probably didn't want him talking."

"Then why take him alive? Why not kill him?"

"Fuck if I know, Oz. Maybe Sienna Khan's his girlfriend." Ironwood sighed. "Anyway, as you know, we scrambled F-16s of the 114th out of Sioux Falls. They never did find who did it, but the AWACS crew thinks they saw an all-red aircraft."

"The red F-22 Ruby Flight saw over Minneapolis," Ozpin said. "The White Fang found a new hideout."

"Yeah. And there's plenty of old abandoned airports in the Dakotas and Montana they could be hiding in. And because we lost AWACS coverage, and the Eberle Line was looking northwest, we lost the helicopters they were using as well. The wreckage of one helicopter was found north of Sioux City, so they probably headed northwest and slipped out somewhere in the Badlands." Ironwood put out a hand to help Ozpin down the stairs, but he refused. "Anyway, I've notified Winnipeg and Hector to keep their eyes open. The Fang's like a fucking hydra," he said, unknowingly echoing Qrow.

"And the GRIMM that were sighted over Minnesota?"

"Nothing," Ironwood returned. "But they could've headed north and gotten lost over the lakes up there."

Ozpin stopped on the landing. "Something's not adding up, James. First Ruth Lionheart. Then Mercury Black. Now Roman Torchwick has been freed. Someone trying to frame Yang Xiao Long. Someone trying to make Vytal Flag look as bad as possible."

"It _does_ add up," Ironwood disagreed. "The problem is, we don't know what it adds up to."

* * *

Pyrrha Nikos lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. _Make a decision,_ she told herself. _You have to make a decision._ She looked at her hands. She'd always thought her hands were too big and clumsy for a girl, but they weren't big enough for the responsibility she was going to take on if she accepted Ozpin's offer. Assuming she had a choice at all: she wondered, if she refused, if she would simply meet with an 'accident' in the near future. Something as secret as the Maidens would be much more protected if Pyrrha was in a grave somewhere.

The door to the room banged open, and Pyrrha nearly levitated into the ceiling. Nora Valkyrie didn't notice. "Damn stupid Warthog!" she shouted, and kicked the door shut. "Making me late for my dinner date with Renny!"

"What's wrong?" Pyrrha asked, glad for the distraction. Nora stripped down to her underwear, tossing fatigues left and right. Pyrrha blushed; Nora was wearing a thong that barely concealed anything, and the bra strained heroically against her bosom.

"Boresighting the stupid gun!" Nora yelled. "The damn gun's off kilter for some reason, and Chief thinks the aircraft's keel might be warped from the damage it took!" Nora flung a skirt onto her bed. "They might have to scrap poor old _Magnhild!_ And where the fuck is my blouse I had picked out?"

Pyrrha walked over to Nora's closet. She knew exactly which one her friend was looking for. "Here you are."

"Oh. Where was it?"

"Hanging up in the closet."

"What the hell was it doing there? Oh well. Thanks, Pyr." She tugged on the skirt. "Socks, socks…" She opened her drawer and tossed a paper packet onto the bed. "C'mon, I need my good socks…"

"What's this?" Pyrrha asked. She picked up the packet. It was addressed to Nora from Ruth Lionheart.

"Oh, yeah. Forgot I had that. I think Ruth left behind some porn for me."

"It's not heavy enough." Pyrrha closed her eyes and inwardly winced, because now it sounded like she knew how much pornography weighed.

Nora laughed as she put on her blouse. "Pyrrha! I'm proud of you!" She turned and looked in the mirror on her dresser. "Think I need to do my hair? You can open it up, if you want. I'm kind of afraid to, to be honest."

Pyrrha's curiosity got the better of her. She tore off the end of the envelope, and pulled out a series of photographs. They were stills from a gun camera film. A note fell out and onto the bed, in Ruth's handwriting:

_Hey, Nora. These are gun camera stills from Cinder's F-15 during the Battle of La Crosse. She says she accidentally shot down Fox and Velvet. I don't know if I believe her, or trust the other people in my flight besides Emerald. There's just something off about them. It might've been deliberate, though I don't know why Cinder would shoot down a friendly. Maybe she don't like Faunus. _

_If you're reading this, I've I've bought the farm. Probably hit a tree or something; the ground has it in for me. Anyways, you can keep these and give them to Ozpin, or you can burn them. Whichever you think is best, but I thought __someone__ should know._

_Your friend forevs,_

_Ruth_

Pyrrha felt ice in her stomach. "Nora, you need to look at these."

Nora turned and her eyebrows beetled together in confusion. "What are those?" Then she read the note. "What the hell? That doesn't make any sense. I mean, Cinder Fall is kind of a bitch, but this is a bit much. What was Ruth smoking?"

Pyrrha spread the prints out and looked over them with an experienced eye. "This isn't accidental. It looks to me that Cinder was tracking them before she opened fire."

"Sure, but…" Nora had enough experience with gun passes that she knew Pyrrha was right. "But why would she do it? I mean, if she's got something against Faunus, why not go after….Ruth…" Her voice trailed off and she looked at Pyrrha in horror. "You don't think…"

Pyrrha sat on the bed. It made no sense. If Cinder hated Faunus—and she'd never given any indication that she did, but Pyrrha had known bigots who kept it quiet—it was one thing to treat them like Cardin Winchester did, and another to resort to outright murder. But Ruth Lionheart's death didn't add up either. She had been young and in good shape; Pyrrha had jogged with her a few times. True, people in good shape dropped dead on occasion. Something still didn't seem right. "I don't know," she said, putting the stills back in their envelope. "But I'm taking these to Ozpin. I need to talk to him anyway."

There was a knock on the door. "Come in!" Nora called out, and Ren and Jaune stuck their heads in. "Is everyone decent?" Ren asked, smiling.

"I don't have any pants on, but you can come in," Nora grinned. To her surprise, Ren and Jaune both walked in. She turned a little red, and hastily put on her pants, though not before both men got a good look at her thong. Jaune turned away; Ren did as well, though he took a second longer. "Sorry," Ren apologized. "We just preferred not to have a conversation in front of the guard on Ruby Flight's door."

"I know, right? Isn't it creepy?" Nora stood and tucked her blouse into her pants. "Hey, guys. Do you think…Yang killed Mercury?"

"She did say she'd kill him if he ever messed with Weiss or Ruby," Jaune said.

"Still, Yang's not the murdering type," Ren put in. "I just don't see her doing it."

"Someone said it was an accident," Pyrrha stated. She'd heard it from Coco Adel.

"Yeah, but she wasn't supposed to be carrying live rounds," Jaune argued. "I mean, I never liked Mercury, but he didn't deserve that." He shrugged, seeing that he was in the minority. He hoped he was wrong, because he liked Yang immensely, but it didn't look good. "Maybe her ground crew screwed up."

"I need to go over to Captain Ozpin's office," Pyrrha said, changing the subject. "Jaune, do you want to come with me?"

"Sure! I'm not doing anything." He waved to Nora and Ren, held the door open for Pyrrha, and they left.

Nora wiggled her eyebrows. "We're alone," she said suggestively.

Ren's stomach growled in response. "We're also hungry," he replied.

Nora weighed her options: food or sex. Food won. Besides, she'd just gotten into her clothes. "You win this time, stomach," she proclaimed.


	19. In a Lifetime

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sometimes a story takes you somewhere you didn't expect when you started. Originally, most of this chapter was going to be in Ozpin's office, as we build up to the Battle of Beacon. However, then a depressed Pyrrha decided to visit Amber, so Ozpin's office will have to wait until next time._

_I hope folks are still reading this story, but I'm gonna keep writing it._

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_13 April 2001_

Yang stared at the door for awhile after Ironwood and Ozpin left. "Do _you_ guys believe me?" she asked, finally.

"Of course," Ruby said instantly. "Somebody set you up."

"As odd as it sounds, Ruby's right," Weiss told her, "I believe you as well, Yang."

Blake did not answer, and Yang looked at her wingmate. "Blake?"

"Yang," Blake said, not meeting her eyes, "we all know you'd do anything for any of us. Especially your sister."

"Yeah, but…you think I did this?" Yang's voice was hurt, heartbroken.

Blake stood, started to pace, but then just leaned against the dresser, staring at the setting sun. "I watched someone I cared about very much slowly go bad. It started with 'accidents.' Then it was only in self-defense. Pretty soon I realized that it wasn't any of those things, but not soon enough. I didn't want to see. I forced myself not to, until I no longer had a choice in the matter." She faced Yang. "I don't want to see that happen twice, Yang. Tell me to my face that you were surprised when this happened, and that all you felt was shock when you saw Mercury punch out. That you didn't think 'Good, it's what the bastard deserved.'"

"God, no," Yang said, shocked. "I mean, yeah, Mercury's an asshole, but damn, Blake! I didn't want him dead! I know what I said at the club, but my blood was up. He was nasty to Weiss and Ruby."

Weiss stood as well. "Blake, if you're going to hold Yang to account for what she said at the dance, then you'd better do the same to me. Because _I_ wanted to kill the motherfucker too." They all looked at Weiss. It wasn't just that she rarely cursed, it was that she always cursed in German. "What? I have a grasp of the American idiom too."

Blake went over to Yang, sat down on the bed with her, and hugged her. "Then that's good enough for me, Yang. I believe you. I just don't want to see you go down the same path Ad—my friend did."

Yang's response was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened, and Qrow Branwen stuck his head through the door. "Hey, can I come in?"

"Sure!" Ruby chirped.

Qrow walked in and closed the door behind him. "Hey there, firecracker." He held up two bags of McDonald's. "Had dinner yet?"

"Not really hungry."

"I call bullshit on that." He inclined his head towards the door for the rest of them. "Would you guys mind if I talked to Yang alone?"

"Sure," Blake said. "Come on, ladies. We should probably get something to eat ourselves." Weiss followed Blake to the door, but as Ruby hesitated, the phone rang. They all stared at it for a moment, remembering Ironwood's warning about the press, but finally Ruby grabbed it. She pitched her voice a little lower. "Ruby Flight, Captain Belladonna speaking." Weiss bit her lip to keep from laughing, Yang covered her mouth with both hands, and Blake mouthed _What the hell?_ "Yes," Ruby continued. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir." She hung up the phone. "That was Ozpin," she said, a little mystified. "Blake, he wants you to report to his office right away."

"Did he actually think you were me?"

"He didn't say anything."

Yang snickered. "Man, Ozpin _is_ distracted if he fell for that bullshit."

"Well, I guess I'd better go see what he wants." Blake waved as she opened the door. "See you later."

"Come on, Weiss," Ruby said, with a sidelong glance at Qrow and Yang. "I'll buy you dinner from Shop."

"That's a first." Weiss threw Yang a salute as she followed Ruby out.

* * *

Pyrrha's stomach rumbled as she and Jaune walked towards Ozpin's office. Jaune reached into his pocket, pulled out a candy bar, and broke it in half. "Want some?"

As a rule, Pyrrha ate very healthy. She rarely indulged in sweets, but this time she gratefully took the candy bar and devoured it. He ate his slowly. "You want to go by the O Club after we get done at the CO's?" he asked.

"Let me think about it." She held the packet to her chest, and seemed distracted.

"What's in the envelope?"

Pyrrha thought about telling him, but decided it might be better if she didn't. "I can't tell you. It's, um, classified."

"Really?" She nodded. "Then can you tell me what's been bugging you for the past day or so?" She looked at him, and Jaune shrugged. "Come on, Pyr. You've been moping around a lot lately. You didn't even come to see Yang go up against Mercury." Jaune blew out a breath. "Though maybe that was for the best."

"I'm sorry," she told him. "That's classified too. Really."

Jaune didn't say anything for a few moments. "You know, you're the first person to really believe in me." Once more, she stared at him. He laughed. "It's true. Mom didn't want me to join up. She said the Arcs had already given too much to France. My uncle told me that _when_ I washed out—not if, when—he'd give me a job at his vineyard. And then I got stuck ferrying fighters instead of flying them, and you know the rest. You saw something no one else did." Pyrrha's eyes widened as she felt his fingers touch, and then intertwine with hers. "So let me help you."

She squeezed his hand, grateful for the contact. "Th…thank you, Jaune." She knew she couldn't tell him—Rissa Arashikaze's warning echoing in her ears—but maybe he could help on a general level. "Jaune, do you believe in destiny?"

"You mean like predestination or that sort of thing?"

She laughed. "Not quite so metaphysical. But just that we all have something we are meant to do in this life."

"That sounds pretty metaphysical." Jaune stared at the sky for a moment. "I believe in God. I'm not much of a churchgoer, but I do pray when I can. So…yeah, I guess I believe in that."

"I'm not sure if I still believe in God," Pyrrha admitted. "We've had something of a love-hate relationship, I suppose. But I do think we're meant to do something in our lives."

"What brought this on?" Jaune asked.

Pyrrha looked down. "I can't say. But let's just say something has come up that stands in the way of my destiny—or _is_ my destiny. I don't know." She stopped, let go of his hand, and faced him. "If I do this thing, I will be given an incredible amount of power. I don't know if I'm ready for that, Jaune. It's not what I want, really. I want to just be a fighter pilot. No fame or fortune; just me. I even switched my citizenship to the United States to get away from all that celebrity in Greece. And now…"

"Then say no," Jaune offered. "Whatever offer you've been given, just say no."

"But if I do, I might be betraying everything I stand for!" She saw people's heads turn, so she dropped her voice. "On one hand there's duty. On the other there's what I want. The Pyrrha Nikos I'm supposed to be would choose duty, but the Pyrrha Nikos I _want_ to be doesn't care."

He took her hands again, feeling their warmth. "Pyrrha, you will always choose duty. I know you. You always will."

"Why?" Her eyes shined with tears.

"Because that's who you are. You're already a heroine."

"But I don't want to be, Jaune! I never wanted to be!" She shook her head, tore her hands away from his, and began to walk away. "You don't understand. No one does!"

"Pyrrha!" Jaune called after her.

"Just leave me alone, Jaune!" She began sobbing, and ducked into the hospital, finding a bathroom to dry her eyes and compose herself. She half-hoped Jaune would follow her. He didn't.

* * *

Blake, who was walking towards Ozpin's office, heard Pyrrha's shouts—others probably had too, but it was one place where Faunus hearing came in handy—and considered following her into the hospital. She slowed, also seeing the devastated look on Jaune's face. She crossed the street and went up to him. "Jaune?" she asked. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I don't know," Jaune said, in a shocked voice. "Pyrrha got angry at me, and I don't even know why!"

"She's been acting a little depressed lately."

"Yeah, no kidding," Jaune agreed. "She just bit my head off, after she was rambling about destiny and power and being forced to choose. I don't understand." He looked at Blake. "Think I should go after her?"

Blake considered it, but then shook her head. "No…maybe let her cool off a bit. Pyrrha's a good person, Jaune; she didn't mean anything by it. She'll probably come over and apologize later."

"Yeah…I guess." Jaune sighed. "I don't get girls."

Blake put a hand on his shoulder. "Jaune, _girls_ don't get girls. I have to report to Ozpin. See you later."

"How's Yang?" Jaune asked.

"She's…it's all just a giant clusterfuck, my friend."

"Yeah," he said, sadly. "Tell me about it."

Blake waved at him, then began jogging towards base headquarters. Jaune turned and began walking slowly back to his quarters.

Neither saw Cinder Fall walk casually into the hospital.

* * *

Pyrrha leaned over the sink, trying to get herself under control, her mind whirling with indecision. There was no one who could help. Jaune would try, but because she couldn't tell him, he would fail. So would Ren or Nora. Ozpin and Ironwood would tell her to do her duty. She thought about Qrow Branwen, but she didn't know him all that well, and wasn't sure where he was, or even if he was still at Beacon.

And then she thought of Amber.

Pyrrha knew she really wasn't supposed to talk to the dying pilot without permission, but Amber was probably the only person in the world who knew what she was going through. She looked at the packet, but that could wait for now. Ozpin would understand, and if he didn't, then to hell with him. Pyrrha was getting tired of being everyone's pawn.

She dried her eyes, straightened her uniform, and left the women's bathroom. She then walked briskly down the hall to the head doctor's office. On the way back from their meeting in Amber's room, Ozpin had mentioned that only himself, Glynda Goodwitch, and the head doctor had access. If he was gone, Pyrrha would just go to Ozpin's office.

Dr. Christopher Thomas was still there, though he was getting ready to head home. His door was open, and she hesitantly knocked on it. He looked up. "Oh, hello there, Major Nikos."

She walked into his office and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Doctor Thomas, I know this is highly irregular, but…may I see Amber?"

Thomas stared back at her. "That is irregular indeed. Why?"

"Just to talk."

Thomas gave it some thought. He didn't know why exactly access to Amber Tardor was so restricted; it was on a need-to-know basis. But he knew that Pyrrha Nikos had met Amber before, and that the poor girl liked having someone there to talk to. Most of the time, she was alone; even Thomas only saw her when he had to administer medication five times a day. "All right." He stood up and put on his doctor's smock. "She would probably love some company." He shut the office door and locked it, then they headed down the hallway.

Once more, after entering the false room, they went through the cumbersome dressing of gloves, masks and booties, and went down the elevator to the room. The room, as before, was silent except for the machines keeping Amber alive. As they walked in, she stirred. "God…is that you? It's me…Amber."

"I'm afraid it's just us," Thomas said.

"Oh…great. I knew…I was going to hell." She squinted. "Who's that?"

Pyrrha stepped closer. "Pyrrha Nikos."

"Oh yeah…the ginger. What's up?"

"I need to talk to you."

Thomas checked the machines, then his watch. "I can give you an hour. I've got some paperwork to finish. Then I have to come back to get you. Okay?"

"That should be fine," Pyrrha answered. Thomas nodded and left.

He went up the elevator, changed out of the sterile garments and threw them away, then began walking back to his office. Stepping into the hallway, he nearly bumped into a tall brunette. He knew most of the pilots on base, but this one was only vaguely familiar. "Excuse me, Major. This is a restricted wing."

"Oh, terribly sorry," she replied. "I'm Cinder Fall. I saw my friend Pyrrha head this way a few minutes ago. Is she all right?"

Thomas gently took her arm and steered her away. "Just visiting a friend. Unfortunately, the friend has salmonella poisoning, so we have to keep her isolated."

"I see," Cinder said. "Is it Lieutenant Valkyrie?"

"Patient privilege information," Thomas told her. "I can't say. Major Nikos should be out in an hour or so. You can wait in the lounge, if you like, but we have to keep this wing quarantined."

Cinder laughed a little. "If we didn't have enough problems around here."

"Yeah, no kidding."

She shrugged. "It's all right. No big deal. I'll track her down later. Thank you, Doctor." Cinder walked off, hiding her smile.

* * *

"Good…to see you," Amber said, putting out a hand. Pyrrha reached through the plastic and took the hand. "Take your mask…off. Easier to understand."

"But what about bacteria?"

Amber tried to laugh, but coughed instead. "Hey, if…if bacteria wants to…kill me…I'm okay…with that." She coughed again, tried to get in more air. "Sorry…can't talk well." She weakly squeezed Pyrrha's hand. "Appreciate you coming…down."

Pyrrha pulled up a seat and took off her mask. "Amber, I don't know what to do. I don't think I can be the custodian of a Maiden."

"Just Maiden," Amber corrected. "Yeah, they call…call us that…too."

"All right. I don't think I can be a Maiden."

"Why not?"

"I'm not good enough."

"Who says?"

Pyrrha smiled sadly. "I do."

"Ha. Bullshit." Amber smiled. "I said the…same damn thing."

"Why did you do it?" Pyrrha wanted to know.

"Because…someone has to." Amber stared at the ceiling. "I'm no one…no one special. Just Amber. But Ozpin…he believed in me. Thought I was…something. He's…good man. Trust him."

"Amber…I did some things."

The other girl shook her head. "You know…what my callsign…is?" Her smile widened. "Crash. Crash Tardor." She rolled her eyes. "I was…really hoping for…Tardis. Tardis Tardor." Seeing Pyrrha's confused expression, she added, "Doctor Who. Ever watch?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Pagan." She sat up as much as she could. "If I'd…crashed a few more…I'd be an ace. Of my own side. But…Ozpin saw something…something more." She gave a tired shrug. "It's not…so bad. You're still…a Huntress. Still a…fighter pilot. Kinda cool."

"Did you ever use it? The Maiden?"

"No. Should have. Wouldn't be here." Amber motioned at the bed. "It's more than…than just love…loving country. It's to…all humans. Prevent another war." She pointed vaguely skyward with her remaining hand. "Always wanted…to be an astronaut. Go to the moon. Figured this was…next best thing."

"What if I don't want any of that?" Pyrrha asked. "What if I just want to be a fighter pilot? Get married? Raise a family?"

"Someone say…you can't?"

"It was sort of implied."

Amber chuckled. "Someone…never told me. Not married, no kids. But…I have…" There was the light of devilment in her eyes. "I have…_fucked_ a lot…of dudes."

"Isn't that a security breach?"

"Not unless…you tell them. Just…told them I was…a fighter chick. Dudes love…fighter chicks!" Amber sighed. "Gonna miss that. Sex. I love it. Not even sure…it's still there." She pulled up the covers and looked down into it. "Oh. Hey. Guess she's…still there. Damn…needs a shave. Still got…my boobs, too."

Pyrrha couldn't help but giggle. "I wish I'd known you sooner."

"Nah. You'd…too wild for you." She reached back, to the plastic, and touched Pyrrha's cheek through it. "If you don't…want to be…Maiden…that's okay. But…someone else will…have to be. Someone…not as good…as you."

"I'm not that good." Pyrrha reached up and touched the hand, wished she could hug her.

"Yeah…you are. You wouldn't…be down here…talking to…me."

Pyrrha sat back in her chair. "It's hard for you to talk, but if you like, I can stay with you for a little while."

"I'd like that. You talk…me listen."

"About what?"

"About sex."

Pyrrha snorted and laughed. "No!"

"When you're…naked…and staring at…the ceiling…what do _you_…think about?"

"I'm afraid I don't have a lot of experience at that. Sex, I mean."

"You're…missing out. Life…is short." Amber coughed, and leaned back on her pillows. "Then talk about…next best thing. Flying."

"All right." So Pyrrha did.


	20. The Eve of the War

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Things begin to unravel as we ramp up to the Battle of Beacon. _

* * *

_Commanding Officer's Office, Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_13 May 2001_

Blake Belladonna walked into Ozpin's office. He was behind his desk, as expected; she hadn't expected General Ironwood. Nor had she expected a USAF sergeant, sitting in a chair with a bandage around his head. She came to attention. "Captain Belladonna, reporting as ordered, sir."

Ozpin gave her a short nod. "Thank you, Captain. Please, have a seat." Blake did as ordered. "Captain Belladonna, this is Sergeant Ryan Hofer, US Air Force. He is the sole survivor of the White Fang attack on the convoy. Sergeant, if you could—and I know it's difficult to keep reliving this incident over and over again, but I promise you, this is the last time."

"Yes, sir." Hofer described the attack, the isolation of his HMMWV, what happened after Torchwick was freed, and why he was spared. He didn't mention the attack warning.

Blake was careful to keep her features neutral, but it was not easy. She recognized the tactics, even could identify some of the White Fang troops just by his description, and of course there was no question Adam had been there; it took all of her self-control not to react to his description. Sienna was easy enough as well. But it was most certainly Ilia that spared the sergeant. She just needed confirmation. "Sergeant, if you don't mind, could you describe the person who saved you?"

"Well…she was about five feet one, slight build, dark red hair that's slicked back, freckles—big ones. She was dressed in USAF fatigues, probably surplus, but they all were."

Blake nodded, then looked at Ozpin. He stood. "Sergeant, thank you for your time. We'll get you back to the hospital now." Hofer looked a little confused, but he stood as well, shook hands with all of them, and left. Once the door was closed, Ozpin turned to Blake. "Is that someone you know, Captain?"

"It is, sir. Her name is Ilia Amitola. We…grew up together, actually. I thought she was still in Menagerie."

"Is she White Fang?" Ironwood asked, the first he'd said since the meeting started.

"She is. We actually joined up together."

Ozpin steepled his fingers. "So why did she spare Sergeant Hofer?"

Blake had to think about that one. Ilia had killed in the past, though she was nowhere near as bloodthirsty as Adam Taurus or Sienna Khan. "I don't know. She hates humans. Both of her parents died in a mining accident, working for the Schnee Company." She paused. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Of course," Ozpin answered.

"I don't understand why the White Fang would free Roman Torchwick. He's a human. Yes, he was apparently partnered with them, but they risked a lot to get him."

"We're trying to figure that out ourselves, Captain," Ironwood told her. "Our only theory is that he knew something, and was afraid we'd get it out of him. However, it would've been much easier to simply murder him, not rescue him. We have no idea," he finished.

It was silent for a few moments, then Ozpin asked, "Out of curiosity, Captain, what kind of Faunus is Miss Amitola?"

"She's…" Blake laughed a little. "She's kind of odd in that regard. In a good way, and especially for the White Fang. She's some sort of chameleon crossbreed. She's a Faunus, and warm-blooded, but a chameleon. She can camouflage into the environment around her. Her clothes can't, so it's limited."

"Can she look like other people?" Ironwood looked worried.

"No. Just what's around her. She's also a qualified pilot, and a good one." Blake paused. "She might've been the one flying either the F-5 Weiss—Oberleutnant Schnee, I mean—went up against. Or the F-22."

"Would you consider her a friend?" Ozpin wanted to know.

Blake sighed. "I thought we were, sir. I confided in her that I thought the White Fang was going off the rails, and she agreed with me. Not enough to leave, but…she never told anyone that I was thinking about leaving."

"Very well, Captain; thank you. That will be all." He smiled at Blake. "My leg is acting up, so you won't mind if I don't get up."

"Not at all, sir." Ironwood did get up, and they shook hands. "Sir," she asked, "what's going to happen to Yang?"

"That's the next thing on our agenda, Captain," Ironwood replied. "Sergeant Yorse should be waiting in the hallway. Show him in, if you don't mind, and you're dismissed."

"Sir." Blake came to attention with precision, then opened the door. Sure enough, there was a very nervous Technical Sergeant Darren Yorse waiting in the hallway. "They're ready for you," she said, unsure of what else to say.

"Thanks, Captain." Yorse got to his feet. "Ma'am…how's Captain Long?"

Blake smiled at him. "She's all right." She dropped her voice. "She thinks she's been set up. Tell them the truth, Sarge. I think it'll work out."

"I intend to, ma'am. Thanks." He went into the room, closed the door, and came to attention. Ozpin motioned him to a chair, but Yorse, to their surprise, went to perfect at ease, his hands clasped behind his back, legs slightly apart. "I would rather stand, sir."

Ironwood glared at the sergeant, though in reality he was impressed by the man's temerity. "That's an insubordinate action, Sergeant Yorse."

"Yes, sir," Yorse replied. "And I intend to take the consequences of my actions." He glanced at the general. "General, sir…I loaded the gun. It was my fault. Captain Long is innocent." He returned his gaze to a point just over Ozpin's shoulder. "Burn me, General. Not her."

Ozpin's eyes rose. "Sergeant, you've got almost 20 years in service. You've got combat time in Germany, Iceland and Iraq. You have two fine children and a beautiful wife. You're putting a lot on the line with that statement."

"It was my fault, sir. No one else's."

"I see." Ozpin tossed the form with his and Yang's signatures onto the desk. "Please explain that, Sergeant."

Yorse glanced down at it. "Sir, that's the form that was handed to me that ordered me to load the F-15 with live rounds."

"And who gave you the form?"

"Captain Sustrai, sir."

"And where did she get it?"

"From you, sir." Yorse paused. "No, wait. That's not right. She said that she'd run into Captain Long, who signed it, but that she'd gotten the form from Major Fall."

Ozpin and Ironwood exchanged a look. Both men knew what the other was thinking: the two remaining members of Creamer Flight. Something was wrong. "Are you certain?" Ozpin asked the sergeant.

"Swear it on a stack of Bibles, sir."

Ozpin took back the form, and scanned it again. "Very well. Thank you, Sergeant. You're released from confinement to quarters, but…don't leave the base. There will be a formal inquiry, and you'll be needed."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed. And thank you again." Yorse walked out. He knew better than to ask if this exonerated Yang, but he felt much better than when he had walked in.

* * *

Once the door had closed, Ironwood faced Ozpin. "If that form _is_ a forgery, then either Sustrai or Fall lied, and they were the ones that did it."

"Ruth Lionheart murdered. Now Mercury Black. Both of them may have discovered something that neither Sustrai nor Fall wanted us to know."

Ironwood snapped his fingers. "The infiltrator in the data center. Lieutenant Rose described a tall woman with a good figure. That _would_ be a fair description of Cinder Fall."

"And a lot of other women on base. Still…we are not taking chances. Especially not with what Hofer told us this Amitola woman said about an imminent attack."

"Unless that was a trick," Ironwood pointed out. "Make us start jumping at shadows."

"Better to jump at shadows than be killed by them." Ozpin picked up his phone. "Amitola. She's a chameleon Faunus…interesting. What do chameleons do, James?"

Ironwood nodded. "I thought about that too. The CIA's Source Camo. Jesus. If she's a deep cover agent, then she risked everything." He shook his head. "God help her if she gets caught. The White Fang will roast her over an open fire."

"If we don't get to the bottom of this soon, James, we might be joining her." He dialed the number to Emerald Sustrai's room.

* * *

At the Visiting Officers' Quarters, Emerald Sustrai's phone rang. She had been trying to read a book, but without much luck: she knew that a phone call was coming. Feeling fear in her stomach—the old fear of getting caught—she picked up the phone, and managed to answer it in a normal voice. "Captain Sustrai."

"Captain, this is Captain Ozpin. Report to my office on the double. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. What is this about—" The line clicked off. Emerald sighed, the fear coalescing into a ball of ice. She set the book down. "Well, that was Ozpin. He didn't sound too happy. I think he knows."

Cinder Fall sat in a chair opposite the bed. "That was faster than anticipated, but not unexpected. All right, Emerald. You know what to do. Put everything on me. I was the one who handed you the form. They'll find the dance guestbook in my room, and deduce correctly that I used it to forge Ozpin's and Yang's signatures." Actually, it had been Emerald who had done it—as a thief, she'd had to forge a lot of signatures in her time. The guestbook from the dance had been a godsend to practice with, which was why Cinder had suggested it in the first place when the dance was being planned. "The most they can get you on was the small fib you told Yang's crew chief that you'd run into her. Make up some excuse; the worst they can do is confine you to quarters pending the inquiry, and we'll get you out when the time comes." Cinder did not tell Emerald that the assault was scheduled for the next 48 hours.

"Will you be all right?" Emerald asked, as she got to her feet.

"I'll be fine. I can be through the front gate in five minutes. Even if they pick me up, Mercury knows what to do. We won't have long to wait in any case." To Emerald's surprise, Cinder gathered her into a hug. "We will win, Emerald. We're already halfway to victory." Then she picked up a small overnight bag and left the room.

Cinder walked briskly out of the VOQ and to the parking lot, where her rental car waited. It was a sports car—fighter pilots rarely drove anything less. She threw the bag into the tiny back seat, climbed in, revved the engine, but gently pulled out. The VOQ was less than a block from the front gate. The air policeman on duty waved her through with a smile. Cinder threw him a wave and accelerated as she left the base. Less than two minutes later, she was headed north on Interstate 90.

* * *

As Ozpin and Ironwood waited for Emerald, the phone rang. He had tried calling Cinder's room to no avail; neither man knew she was already gone. Ozpin let it ring for a moment, then reluctantly picked it up. "Captain Ozpin."

"Ozpin, this is Jason Terasoma."

Ironwood groaned; he could hear the voice on the other end of the line. It was the worst possible timing. Ozpin couldn't exactly hang up on the Secretary of Defense of the United States. "I'll make sure Sustrai doesn't go anywhere," he whispered, and headed out into the hall, though he left the door open so he could hear at least some of the conversation.

"Mr. Secretary," Ozpin returned. "It's a bit late, sir."

"Yes, it is. I just got back from a working dinner with the President. I had to brief him on this Yang Xiao Long thing. He's not too happy, but he'll put out an official statement in the morning that we've begun a court of inquiry. Which we have, right?"

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Secretary, General Ironwood and I are in the middle of it right now." Ozpin hoped Terasoma would get the hint.

He didn't. "That's good. Ironwood? Why is he involved?"

"We felt it would be best to keep the number of personnel involved to a minimum. Colonel Goodwitch flew over to Ellsworth this afternoon to look into the attack on the Eberle Line AWACS, at my request."

"Oh yes, that's another thing. White Fang involvement, I hear. The attack was a cover so they could break that son of a bitch Torchwick out?"

"Yes, sir. No idea what that was about yet…we're working on that as well."

Terasoma's voice hardened. "No, you're not, Captain. I appreciate you looking into it, and I know the MPs killed in the attack were from Beacon." Ozpin didn't feel like correcting the Secretary that it was Air Force Security Forces, not Army Military Police. "But leave that to the Army. Goodwitch needs to be back at Beacon ASAP for the demonstration tomorrow."

Ozpin realized he had an opportunity here, after all. "Mr. Secretary, I think we should either delay or cancel the B-1 Paladin demonstration."

"Why the hell would we do that, Captain?"

"Sir, there's something very strange going on up here. First we had Flying Officer Lionheart murdered—"

"What? _Murdered?_ When the hell did that happen?"

Ozpin fought down a sigh of frustration. "Mr. Secretary, I sent you several reports, and so did Rissa Arashikaze from the CIA."

Terasoma was silent for a long minute, and Ozpin could hear him shuffling papers. "Oh, right. Yes, I forgot. Continue, Captain."

"Now we've had the incident with Captain Long and Lieutenant Black, _and_ the attack on the Eberle Line, _and_ the White Fang suddenly breaking out an air pirate that they had no reason to break out. I'm getting the two surviving members of Creamer Flight—Emerald Sustrai and Cinder Fall—up to my office to see what their involvement is. Until we know how these things are connected, Vytal Flag needs to be suspended."

"Absolutely not," Terasoma shot back. "It goes forward as scheduled. The Paladin demonstration tomorrow, followed by the conclusion of the one-on-one fights."

Ozpin wished he could reach through the phone and throttle the Secretary. "Sir, with respect—"

"Captain, I'm not going to tell you again. _It goes forward._ I told the President at dinner tonight that we would hold the demonstration. We've got to restore the people's confidence in the military; don't you understand that? Watching our newest weapon system kick ass against a bunch of drones simulating GRIMM will do that. If nothing else, it'll get their minds off this lunatic Yang Xiao Long."

"She may be innocent, Mr. Secretary. She may have been set up."

Terasoma stopped, but only for a moment. "That's great, Captain, if true. And I trust you'll find out _who_ set her up, so we can burn their ass on national TV. But the Paladin demonstration goes forward. President Shawcross is looking forward to it."

Ozpin had one last card to play. "There's another problem, Mr. Secretary. Colonel Goodwitch was supposed to escort the B-1 tomorrow in her F-22."

"And?" Ozpin heard Terasoma chuckle. "That's right; you sent her out to Ellsworth. Well, call her back! That's not too hard."

"She's needed out there, Mr. Secretary. She has the only other F-22 in that part of the Remnant. If the pirate F-22 should show up again, I want something to counter it. I don't think we want to add the loss of an AWACS to our other woes. They got lucky today, but tomorrow may be a different story."

"That's a good point." For a moment, Ozpin thought he'd won, but then Terasoma continued. "Fine, we'll get someone else to escort the Paladin. Your best pilot…who is your best pilot?" Before Ozpin could respond, Terasoma said, "Hey, about that Pyrrha Nikos girl? She's already famous. Yeah, that'll look real good. Make the Greeks less pissed that she renounced her citizenship there. We'll emphasize her mixed heritage."

"Mr. Secretary, that's not a good idea. Major Nikos has—" Ozpin stopped himself. Terasoma knew about the Maidens, but not that Pyrrha had been selected. "—has other commitments," he finished.

"Then cancel them. Ozpin, I'm tired of you digging in your feet about this. You have your orders. Either obey them or I will find someone who will. I don't mind hanging this Xiao Long business around your neck. The demonstration goes on as scheduled, with Nikos escorting the Paladin. End of story. Do you understand?"

Ozpin fought down his temper. "Yes, Mr. Secretary."

"Good." Terasoma's voice softened. "C'mon, Captain. Let's end your career with a bang. I'll expect your report on the inquiry by tomorrow night. Good night, Captain." The line clicked off.


	21. Immigrant Song

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was supposed to be the "Penny vs. Pyrrha" chapter, but there's a lot going on (plus a few things I forgot to put in last chapter), so again, something of a "bridge" chapter to the beginning of the Battle of Beacon._

_But I think Arkos fans will forgive me for this one..._

* * *

_Covert Base Hector_

_Near Former Fargo, North Dakota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_0530 Local_

The hangar was quiet as the sun just began to touch the eastern horizon. None of the White Fang were in the barracks or rooms they'd taken over; only a skeleton crew was manning the tower. The rest were in the hangar, most dozing, a few on security detail, the others checking weapons, packs, and everything else that was needed for the assault. It was coming, but none of the rank and file knew exactly when—only that it would be very soon.

Adam Taurus was awake, cleaning the blade of his katana. There was really no reason for him to be awake, but he was keyed up, unable to sleep. Unlike the rank and file, he knew the assault on Beacon would be tonight. That meant that, more than likely, he was going to have a reckoning with Blake Belladonna. He sincerely hoped he would not have to kill her, and admitted to himself that, should the black F-14 end up in his sights, he wasn't sure he could pull the trigger.

Arthur Watts was dozing, his back to the hangar wall. Next to him was a telephone. He also hadn't been able to sleep; he was expecting a phone call. In front of him was his open laptop, open to his e-mail.

Sienna Khan was asleep on a mound of packs next to one of the base's pickup trucks. It looked distinctly uncomfortable, but she had mastered the ability to sleep long ago.

Roman Torchwick and Neo Politan were not in the hangar, but in the now-deserted barracks, in the private room once belonging to the commanding officer. Sienna had given it up for the couple, who had passionately reunited. Roman was awake, propped up on his pillows, Neo curled up beside him. He smoothed her hair, not enough to wake her. She murmured something in her sleep, and put an arm over his chest. Both were naked; it had been a long, exhausting, wonderful night.

The telephone rang, startling everyone. Watts was instantly awake and answered it. "Hello."

"W. It's Cinder."

"Why, hello there," Watts said. "Where are you?"

"In Stevens Point. I've got Mike here with me." Mike was code for Mercury.

"Oh? Is he quite all right? I heard he was in a hiking accident."

"He's got some cuts and bruises, but he's fine. I picked him up last night. He had to hike all day through the woods, but I found him."

"And Em?"

"Em had to stay with her relatives. She's probably tied up at the moment."

_Possibly literally,_ Watts thought. "Well, according to the internet, the show is on for today. Will you be watching it?"

"Definitely. Are you coming to see us still?" Cinder asked.

"We should be there by tonight. The whole family's coming down, and we're bringing a guest from Alaska."

"Great! Can't wait to see you. Oh, and how's the chess tourney going?"

"Good. I'm down a few games, but I think we're going to try the Queen's Gambit."

"All right. We'll see you at base plus 4." The agreed-upon base time was 5 PM local. "We're going to get some rest. See you." The line clicked off.

Everyone was looking at him. Watts held up a hand. "Patience." He opened his e-mail. There was only one message: COMING DOWN FROM ALASKA. BE THERE IN 12 HOURS. LOVE, S. He smiled. "Perfect," he whispered. He hadn't been sure his message had gotten through to her, but it had. The chances for the success of the attack had just quadrupled. No more failures or half-measures: Beacon was getting everything. He studied the e-mail one more time, deleted it, then stood. "That was Cinder. We are go."

Sienna was on her feet. "And Salem?"

"On her way."

Sienna took a deep breath, her heart pounding. "White Fang!" she shouted. Everyone was awake now. "Tonight we attack! We will strike a blow for Faunus freedom that will be remembered forever!" A cheer went up from the assembled troops. "Let's get started! Strike Team Alpha, on me."

Watts closed his laptop, put it in the bag, and walked briskly to the truck, as the hangar doors opened a little. Sienna took the driver's seat as he took the passenger side, while six White Fang piled into the back. His heart was hammering too, but not from anticipation so much as fear. Their objective was forty miles away, and there was no guarantee there weren't GRIMM on the way—and the GRIMM wouldn't recognize the White Fang as being on the same side. But there was no choice: he had to go, or the plan would fail.

* * *

_Building 1916 (Bachelor's Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_0600 Local_

Pyrrha Nikos was awakened by the sunlight creeping across the bed. She stretched a little, winced as something popped, and then turned over. It was then she noticed that Jaune Arc was staring at her, already awake. "Hello, Jaune," she said with a smile.

"Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I sure did," Jaune said. "And you?"  
"Mm-hm." She sat up, looked around. "Oh. Where's Ren?"

"Spending the night with Nora, most likely."

"Good idea." She flung off the covers and got up. "Excuse me. I need to use the restroom." Jaune watched her as she walked across the room. It was a rather amazing sight, especially since Pyrrha wasn't wearing a stitch. Of course, neither was he.

As the door shut behind her, Jaune leaned back against the bed's headboard, wondering if he had dreamed the whole thing. An hour after Pyrrha had left him in front of the hospital, she had returned, still with the envelope in her hands; a guard at Base Headquarters had denied her entry, saying that Captain Ozpin and General Ironwood were in a meeting and were not to be disturbed. Unsure of what to do, and feeling terrible about Jaune, she had walked over to the BOQ to apologize. Jaune had been alone, and invited her in. They had forgiven each other fairly quickly, then talked for a bit.

And then Pyrrha had kissed him.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Pyrrha returned to the bed. Jaune swallowed nervously, taking in the girl's toned, muscular body, long legs, perfect breasts, and, most of all, her beautiful face. Everything about Pyrrha Nikos was perfect, and Jaune was reminded of something his mother used to say. "Pyrrha, when God made you…He broke the mold."

She blushed as she climbed back into bed. At first she tucked the covers over herself, but then asked herself why, when she'd just been stark naked in front of him—and had been stark naked most of the night. "Thank you, Jaune."

He slid down in the covers a little, mainly to conceal what Pyrrha's nudity was doing to him. "What did we do last night?"

Pyrrha giggled. "If you've forgotten, then I wasn't very good."

"No! You were…" Jaune didn't have the words. "But…why me?"

"You said I was the first person to really believe in you. And…well…despite what was said yesterday, I think you're the first person to really treat me like I was just another person, and not some Invincible Girl." Her smile could melt a heart of stone.

Jaune looked away. "Pyrrha, I said something to upset you."

"No, Jaune. I took it the wrong way."

He couldn't resist brushing her hair, so he didn't. "Something's changed."

Pyrrha brushed his cheek in return. "Someone gave me a different perspective." She almost told him, but Arashikaze's warning sounded in her ears. "I can't tell you who they are. But I will tell you this…they're in the hospital, and, well…they…she…she's dying, Jaune. She knows it."

"A friend?"

"She is now. I can tell you she's a pilot, or was. But I can't say any more, Jaune. Really, I can't." Even that was probably too much, but Pyrrha chanced it.

"Okay." Jaune turned over and faced her. He'd never been this intimate with anyone. He'd been no virgin, but the women he'd been with he'd paid for. "So what did she say?"

"That life was short." Pyrrha laughed a little. "So I decided to take her advice, and…here we are." She saw something cross his face, and shook her head. "I didn't go to bed with you because you were available, Jaune. I went to bed with you because I wanted you. I think I've wanted you ever since the party after Lake Michigan. And my friend, well…she made me realize I was kidding myself by _not_ being with you. We're not 17-year old teenagers, Jaune. We're grown adults. There's no reason to play silly games—especially given our profession. It was sudden, maybe even stupid, but…I'm glad I did it."

"I'm not going to complain. I just can't believe you picked me." Jaune laughed. "I'm a noodle."

"You're a wonderful lover, Jaune."

He scooted over to her and embraced her. She was so warm, and soft. It was hard for him to believe that this girl in his arms was actually with him, much less that it was Pyrrha Nikos. Not Pyrrha the Invincible Girl of Greece, or Major Nikos—but Pyrrha. She nuzzled into his neck, and he could feel her smile. "What time do you have to be on the flightline?"

"We're flying in the afternoon, so I don't have to be there until 1100."

Jaune checked the clock. It was 0600. "Five hours? Plenty of time."

"For what?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.

He gently turned her over, and knelt between her legs. "To make you glad you did it all over again."

Pyrrha put her hands on his shoulders. "But what if someone comes?"

Jaune kissed her. "I hope someone does."

"What? Oh." She gave him a dirty look. "I meant Ren."

"Ren's going to be with Nora. And he's discreet."

"Then by all means," Pyrrha said, kissing his nose, "make me _very_ glad."

* * *

_USS _Cushing _(DD-985)_

_Cascadia Barrier, Northern Pacific Ocean, West of Washington Dead Zone_

_14 May 2001_

_0630 Local_

Radarman Second Class Timothy Fronsee watched the green screen of the air search radar and tried not to yawn. Much like his counterparts on the AWACS, his job was long moments of crushing boredom interspersed with moments of sheer terror. However, there had been very little terror on this cruise, so he fought sleep in the darkened Combat Information Center, or CIC. Fronsee and his friends maintained that it stood for Christ I'm Confused.

He caught movement in the southeast quadrant of the radar screen. It was a blip, but on the second sweep of the radar, on the mast several decks above him, it was gone. Then it was back on the third sweep, and gone again. "Mr. Eitzen?"

Lieutenant (junior grade) Aaron Eitzen walked over, coffee cup in hand. "Whatcha got, Fronsee?"

"I dunno, sir. A contact bearing two-nine-nine. Keeps fading in and out." They saw it again. "There it is. Looks like…range 200, angels five thousand, speed…1700? That can't be right."

"Not unless we're about to get buzzed by a SR-71." Eitzen picked up the phone to the bridge. It was answered after the second ring. "Lieutenant Eitzen, CIC. We're tracking an intermittent contact bearing two-nine-nine, speed 1700, range 200. Recommend we go to GQ."

"Lieutenant, this is the Captain speaking." In his mind's eye, Eitzen could see Captain Joseph Logan. Logan was a good captain, liked by his men. "Confirm it's not a radar issue?"

"Negative, sir."

"Very well." The line clicked off, but a second later, the gonging noise of the General Quarters alarm went off throughout the ship. Half-asleep crewmen leapt out of bunks and grabbed helmets and lifejackets as the ship went to battle stations; most didn't even bother to dress. There wasn't time.

Fronsee watched the radar intently, and suddenly the contact was no longer intermittent. "Solid contact, Mr. Eitzen! Still bearing two-nine-nine, speed now 1200, range 90—_Vampire, Vampire!_ New contacts, bearing two-nine-nine, speed 700, range 85!" Eitzen felt a wave of nausea: Vampire was code for incoming antiship missiles. Looking over Fronsee's shoulders, he could see the four new contacts; the first one was gone.

The _Cushing_ turned towards the target, going to flank speed to try and present the smallest target to the missiles' seeker heads. The ship's Sea Sparrow mount swung out to bear on the incoming missiles, but its range was only twelve miles. The crew had to wait as the ship began making hard turns, trying to throw off the missiles' seeker heads. They didn't have long to wait as the distance closed rapidly. Rockets fired from the ship, bursting overhead and filling the air with chaff that drifted into the _Cushing's_ wake. One missile suddenly broke away, chased a chaff cloud, and detonated behind the ship, shaking it but causing no damage.

Then the Sea Sparrow fired. Two missiles burst from the boxlike launcher and sped towards the incoming missiles. They met three seconds later, destroying one missile. Now there were two left, and the missiles abruptly pitched upwards, prepatory to diving into the _Cushing_ from above. The ship had one card left: atop the bridge, the Close-In Weapon System swung over and turned its twenty millimeter gatling cannon upwards. The gun roared, and one of the missiles exploded, showering the _Cushing's_ decks with fragments and knocking out the ship's radars. Fronsee's display went blank.

The last missile was not to be denied. The CIWS missed, and it knifed into the _Cushing_ amidships, going through one deck before it exploded.

The initial fireball destroyed much of the crew quarters, which thankfully was mostly empty, and blew a twenty-foot wide hole in the side of the ship. Shock effect traveled through the _Cushing_, enough to break the destroyer's back. Fire quickly began to spread, and the ship heeled over to port, where the damage was. Water flooded in, snuffing out some of the fire, and though more of it spread, the fact that the ship was at general quarters mitigated the damage.

Captain Logan ordered the ship counterflooded and radioed for assistance. It was picked up by the naval air station at Juneau, and by a destroyer further down the line. The _Cushing_ would sink and take thirty of her crew with her, but most of her crew would live, and it would take a long time to die.

It also left a hundred mile gap in the Cascadia Barrier.


	22. Burning Down the House

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry this is running late. I got behind on writing due to the coronavirus craziness, and therefore had to write this today. That and it's a sad, sad chapter. From here on out, things are going to hell, and characters that we love are going to die. But that's war.._

_Incidentally, the KVLY-TV tower exists._

* * *

_Transient Aircraft Tarmac_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1130 Hours Local_

"Ready?" Penny Polendina asked Pyrrha. They stood at the edge of the tarmac.

"I am. Are you? This is kind of your big day."

"Yep!" Penny was happy; she would finally get her chance to shine and show what she could do. She had over Lake Michigan, but no one knew about that: this was the Paladin Project's public unveiling. She noticed something about Pyrrha as well. "You seem pretty chipper, Pyrrha. Not that I'm complaining, but what's up?"

Pyrrha could not help but smile. "Let's just say I finally decided to start living my life rather than just existing." She was glad Penny seemed naïve about certain things of life. When Pyrrha had walked from the BOQ towards the flightline, she'd passed Blake, who was headed towards the Officers' Club for lunch. They'd exchanged some small talk, but the whole time Pyrrha was sure Blake knew exactly what she'd been up to. Abruptly, she remembered that some Faunus had heightened senses of smell, and blushed; what if Blake had smelled Jaune on her?

Penny's eyes lit up. "Someone found a boyyyyfriennnd," she sang. Pyrrha said nothing, but the shy smile told even Penny that she wasn't wrong. "So cool! Tell me who it is."

"A lady never tells, Penny."

"Aww."

"Ladies." Both women turned and snapped to attention, saluting General Ironwood as he walked up to them, with Ciel Soleil in tow. "Ready to go?"

"Yes, sir!" both answered.

"Good. Remember this is for the cameras—nothing too fancy. Everyone's nervous after what happened with Captain Long yesterday, so let's keep it professional."

Pyrrha nodded. She handed Ironwood the packet Ruth Lionheart had left for Nora. "Yes, sir. Sir, would you mind giving this to Captain Ozpin? I was going to do it yesterday, but…got distracted."

Ironwood took the packet. He'd heard about Pyrrha's visit with Amber, as had Ozpin. Neither were too upset about it; both saw it as a good thing, especially if it helped both women—Pyrrha to make her decision, Amber to ease her last days. "From Ruth Lionheart?"

"Yes. It's gun camera film from—" Pyrrha remembered Penny and Ciel standing there. "It's gun camera film. You should look over it."

"Very well." He tucked the packet under his arm. "All right. Captain Soleil?"

Ciel stepped forward. "Let's go over this one more time, by the numbers. Penny, you'll take off first. Head directly to Lake Michigan. The drones will be launched from Sawyer AFB, and you will engage at 20 miles. You have twenty AMRAAMs loaded aboard, and there are 24 drones. Any leakers will be Major Nikos' to kill. It's all right if you don't get all of them…but try to. Major, if you feel it's safe to engage with guns, feel free." Pyrrha nodded. She was carrying four AMRAAMs and two Sidewinders, plus live rounds for the gun. "Once you've completed the mission, return home. No funny stuff like buzzing the field, Penny." Penny looked disappointed, but nodded. "Then there will be an interview after you land for both of you. The press is arriving now—" Ciel pointed down the taxiway, where the media was beginning to gather "—but you don't need to speak with them. Wave if you want, but that's all. Understood?"

"Yes," Pyrrha replied.

"Yes, ma'am," Penny added.

"Very good. Ladies, good luck. Should be an easy one today." Ironwood patted the packet. "I'll give this to Ozpin, Major. See you when you get back."

"Sir," Pyrrha asked softly, "have you heard about Yang—Captain Long?"

Ironwood bent down, a little closer. "Things are looking better with that, Major. I think Yang will be all right."

Pyrrha smiled. "Wonderful, sir. Thank you. And about a certain thing you asked me…" Pyrrha closed her eyes, and decided. "I'll do it."

Ironwood smiled back. "Thank you, Major." He shook hands with her, then Penny. Ciel hesitated, then hugged Penny, which took the latter aback a little; Ciel had never really shown much affection for her charge.

Then it was just Penny and Pyrrha. "Well, here we go. Ready?" Pyrrha asked.

"Let's do this." Penny reached out and gathered Pyrrha into a hug with surprising strength, and then both walked towards their aircraft. They came into sight of the press; Pyrrha, used to this sort of attention, waved, but found it surprisingly easy to smile—usually she had to fake one, but not today. Penny waved enthusiastically, not at all fazed by the cameras. She then nodded to the older pilot and turned to walk towards the B-1. Pyrrha had a few more strides to get to her F-16. It was already preflighted, so all she had to do was climb in. Her crew chief helped her strap in; as Pyrrha put on her helmet, she heard the B-1 begin to spool up, the engines rapidly approaching a roar. The chocks were pulled from the Lancer as Pyrrha's crew chief gave a friendly slap to her helmet, climbed down and removed the ladder. She started the engine once she was sure he was clear, made sure the navigation system was working, then waited with her hands outside of the canopy as the bomber began to move forward.

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_1150 Hours Local_

"Hey, Yang." Blake shut the door behind her. Yang was sitting on her bed, watching a television that had been "midnight requisitioned" the night before from the dorm rec room, a military euphemism for outright stolen. It had been a joint operation of Ruby Flight. "Watching Penny and Pyrrha?"

"Yeah." Yang saw that Blake was carrying something. "Whoa. Is that lunch?"

"Uh huh." She handed Yang the plastic packet. Inside was Shopkeeper's best steak and noodles. "Oh, hot damn," Yang said, unwrapped the fork, and dug in.

"Big appetite." Blake was glad to see it. Even Qrow Branwen had not been able to cheer her up the night before. If anything, Yang had looked more depressed after he left.

"Feeling better." Yang got up, grabbed a soda from the refrigerator, and sat down again, cracking it open. "Slept pretty good, and Ironwood came by about an hour ago. They think they found evidence that shows I didn't know about the live rounds. If that's the case, I'll probably be exonerated. Worst that'll happen is I _might_ get a letter of admonishment." A letter of admonishment was one step below a letter of reprimand; it could damage her career, but not destroy it. She drank a third of the soda. "Someone forged that fucking form."

"Well, that's good news—about you being exonerated, not the forgery. He say anything else? I notice the guard is still outside."

"Yeah, he's got to stay there until the court of inquiry is convened—Ironbutt wants to do that tomorrow. At least they got a hunky guy today. I might want to see if he can 'guard' me really closely. I mean, just in case." Yang wiggled her eyebrows at Blake, who laughed. If Yang was joking again, all was right with the world.

"Where's Ruby and Weiss?"

"Weiss is at the O'Club; she's getting some lunch and coming back here. Ruby got some lunch and then is going to see if she can talk to Ozpin about something. She didn't tell me what it was, but I bet she's trying to find out about you."

"Sounds like Rubes. She's a good little sister. Don't tell her I said that; it'll go to her head."

Blake snickered. "How about your uncle?"

"He took off this morning." Yang didn't tell Blake why. The night before, they had talked about Raven. Qrow had filled in some of the blanks for Yang, though not much more than what Raven herself had. He was already scheduled to fly out to Ellsworth to relieve Glynda Goodwitch in finding out where the mysterious red F-22 went, but promised to come back as soon as he was able. He had told her to try and understand her biological mother, but Yang was having trouble coming up with reasons why. Raven had abandoned her, and that was that; Summer Rose had been her mother, and there was really no other reason to even see Raven Branwen again.

Blake noticed Yang was growing a bit somber again, so sat next to her on the bed. She didn't hug her, just was close enough to let her friend know she was there. "Looks like they're taxiing out."

* * *

_KVLY-TV Tower_

_Near Former Blanchard, North Dakota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_1200 Hours_

"We're online," Arthur Watts told Sienna Khan.

"Good." She shivered, and not because it was a little cold. There were only a handful of them, and they were standing in the middle of a Dead Zone. If any GRIMM detected them, it would be over in minutes. "How long?"

"I can activate Black Queen at any time," he replied.

"And the broadcast?"

"That as well." He set the laptop down on the passenger seat of the pickup, and stared upwards. "Our abandonment of Mountain Glenn may have been fortiutous. This transmitter will work _much_ better."

Sienna joined him in looking up. The KVLY-TV Tower was the tallest structure in the world: a thin steel tower stretching over two thousand feet into the sky, held in place by guy wires as thick as those on a suspension bridge. Because it stood on an otherwise featureless plain, it gave coverage well over the horizon. To their surprise, it was still fairly well-maintained: they had found documents on the tower at Hector, where a team of USAF personnel went out every three months to inspect it, GRIMM permitting: it had strategic uses—one of which was broadcasting emergency instructions, which was exactly what Watts intended to use it for now. "I'd read about this when I was little," Sienna said, "but I thought it had been destroyed years ago."

"As soon as the broadcast is made, we'll return to Hector and launch the main phase of the operation." They turned as one of the White Fang soldiers came out of the tower's operations shack. "Sir, it's on the radio. The Paladin demonstration has started."

"Good." Watts sat down in the truck, picked up the laptop, crackled his knuckles, and began typing.

* * *

_Near Manitowoc, Wisconsin_

_1215 Hours Local_

Pyrrha held position below and to Penny's right as they crossed the Lake Michigan coast, and they began a turn over the water, in a shallow climb. She admired the B-1's sleek lines; it didn't look quite of the earth. "Pyrrha, Penny," the other girl called out. "Contact. Multiple bandits, bearing 080, angels ten, range eighty."

"Roger that, Penny. Come left to 080, let's close." The two aircraft began the turn, the B-1's wings sliding backwards. Pyrrha hoped that Penny wouldn't try to outdistance her; the Lancer was almost as fast as the F-16, and the B-1 was running clean, with everything internal.

In the bomber, Penny checked the instruments; everything was excellent. She could let the computer fly the intercept—the people on the ground would never notice—but it was more fun to "hand fly" the aircraft. Their closing speed was well over the speed of sound, and although the AMRAAMs were still out of range, Penny ordered. "DUST, lock on bandits, first ten." A soft chime let her know the DUST system had activated. The onboard radar swiveled inside the nose, locked onto all 24 drones, and the DUST system picked the ten contacts it deemed the most threatening. To enhance its ability, it drew on a satellite orbiting two thousand miles above them. Carried within the satellite signal was Watts' commands.

Without warning, the B-1's control column was wrenched out of Penny's hands, with enough force that if she hadn't let go, she might've broken her wrists. The bomber abruptly made a hard right break, right into the path of Pyrrha. "_Skata!"_ Pyrrha shouted, but before her brain had finished processing the situation her hands were already moving, rolling the F-16 down and to the left. The fighter lurched as it hit the bomber's jetwash, but she compensated. "Penny, Pyrrha, what are you doing?"

"I don't know!" Penny was startled enough to forget procedure. She grabbed the controls and tried to bring it back on course, but it barely budged. The B-1 was now heading south and accelerating. "Pyrrha, Penny! Something's wrong!"

Pyrrha pushed her throttle forward and closed the distance. She looked over the bomber quickly; there was no visible damage. "Vytal Flag, Vytal Flag, knock it off!" she shouted. "Something's wrong with Penny!"

"Range Control, acknowledged," the controller said. The drones immediately slowed down, no longer moving towards them; they were unarmed in any case. "Penny, Range Control, are you declaring an emergency?"

"Range Control, Penny, wait one." She pulled back on the controls, but once more, it did almost nothing: the B-1's nose came up just a little, the airspeed bled off, but it quickly snapped back into place. Her fingers flew over buttons and switches, but nothing responded. She tried to run a diagnostic, then switch off DUST, then pulled the throttle back, but it did not budge at all. "Oh shit," she breathed. "Oh shit."

"Penny, Pyrrha, what's going on?"

Penny felt fear crawling up her throat. "Pyrrha, Penny. I've lost control of the aircraft. Repeat, I have no control of Paladin."

"Can you get back control?"

"Negative." With horror, Penny knew what was going on. "Pyrrha, Paladin thinks I'm dead. It won't acknowledge control inputs, diagnostic, anything. It's locked me out. Wait one." She couldn't log into the onboard computer anymore, but she could tell where they were going. "My new course is one-seven-two, speed 500, angels five. Radar is on, DUST is on. Searching for targets." Pyrrha looked at her own radar. There was nothing in front of them that could be targeted. There were certainly no threats. Then she reached out with a finger and traced the line of their course, and her breath nearly caught in her throat. "Penny, Pyrrha. Try to go to port."

"Roger." A pause. "Nothing. It swings me back as soon as I try."

"Penny, can you switch channels? Go to channel three."

"Negative. I have no control. Paladin is coming right to one-six-nine, speed increasing, angels seven. Radar is still searching for targets; DUST has slaved the first ten missiles to the radar." Penny's voice was even, a test pilot who understood something was wrong with their aircraft and trying to work the problem—or at least give out information for those who would be later investigating it.

"Penny, you're on a direct course for Chicago-O'Hare," Pyrrha said.

"Roger, concur. Radar has…" Penny paused. "Radar has locked on. New target at range one hundred. Speed increasing to max, 700."

Penny's own radar did not have that kind of range. "Beacon, Pyrrha. Paladin is locking targets at range one hundred, bearing one-seven-two. That is over North Chicago. Are there any bogeys or bandits?"

The controllers at Beacon had been watching the situation unfold. "Wait one, Pyrrha, we're checking." Pyrrha's fingers tightened around her stick and throttle; they were traveling over a mile every ten seconds. "Pyrrha, Penny, Beacon." The controller's voice had risen an octave. "Paladin is spiked on a civilian airliner, repeat, buddy spike, buddy spike."

"Penny here." She waited until the controller had finished. "Paladin remains locked on target one, now locked on target two, two miles behind target one."

"Mother of God," Pyrrha exclaimed. The Paladin was locking onto the airliners in the approach pattern to O'Hare. At 25 miles, it would begin firing. "Penny—"

Penny overrode her. "Pyrrha, you have to shoot down the Paladin."

"What? No!"

"Pyrrha, you have to!" Penny shouted. "We'll be over land in five minutes. After that, there's no telling where the aircraft will go down."

"Roger that." Pyrrha mouthed some vile Greek curses under her breath, and fell back into trail. "Let me know when you're ready to punch out, Penny."

"Negative. I can't eject. I can't get out." Penny's voice was sad, not panicky or upset. She sounded more disappointed than scared.

"What are you talking about?" All radio etiquette was forgotten now. "Punch out!"

"I can't," Penny replied. "Paladin is not equipped with an ejection seat, and we're going too fast to get out manually." Pyrrha could hear Penny's sad smile in her voice. "I'm sorry, Pyrrha. I'll try to make it easier for you."

"I can't do it!" Pyrrha cried.

"Range now fifty, landfall in three minutes. Pyrrha, do it."

"No, please God, no…"

"It's okay, Pyrrha. There are others. Pulling back now." Penny reached forward, grabbed the control column with both hands, and hauled back as hard as she could. It overrode the Paladin's programming for just a moment, and the B-1's nose rose into the air, shedding airspeed. "Shoot! Shoot!"

Pyrrha had already settled the gunsight over the B-1. The radar was locked on, and warbled in her ears. Penny was giving her the best target she was going to get. "Oh God," Pyrrha said, the tears streaming over her oxygen mask, "forgive me."

She pulled the trigger four times.

The AMRAAMs leapt off the rails. They were near minimum range, and their radar seeker heads only saw an easy target, even as the Lancer dropped back to level flight. They closed the distance in seconds. The first struck the B-1 in the right engine pod beneath the wing, blowing off most of the wing assembly. The second hit the tail. The third landed squarely in the Lancer's spine. The fourth landed just behind the cockpit. The entire bomber and its full load of fuel and missiles vanished in a massive explosion. Pyrrha climbed hard to clear it. As she rolled upside down, she watched what little remained of the aircraft fall into Lake Michigan, well short of the beach.

"Pyrrha, Beacon—"

"This is Pyrrha. Target is destroyed." Pyrrha's voice was flat, almost robotic. "Time is 1823 Zulu, 1223 local."

There was silence on the channel. "Pyrrha, Beacon," the controller called out. "Any survivors from Paladin One?"

"Negative."

"Understood, Pyrrha. RTB Beacon."

"Roger." Pyrrha turned on course for the base. She switched off her radio, and let out a primal scream of pure sorrow and rage.

* * *

_KVLY-TV Tower, North Dakota Dead Zone_

_1225 Local_

"And that's that," Watts sighed. "Hated to do that. There was a lot of my time and trouble put into the project. But…they should've listened to me."

Sienna couldn't find her voice. The entire incident had been broadcast live over radio as well as TV, and they had heard Penny's death. Even the High Leader of the White Fang was stunned. "The pilot..." she began.

"Weapon system," Watts corrected her, an edge in his voice. "That was completely unnecessary. It was Pietro Polendina's idea to use a human pilot, not mine. I wanted it completely automated! Well, he's reaping the benefits now, isn't he, the old cripple!" Watts was shouting, realized it, and calmed himself. "Well. Enough about that rubbish. Sienna, your broadcast awaits."

"Yes…yes, of course." She quickly walked into the shack. There was no place to sit, so she simply leaned against the table, took the microphone that was held out to her, and waited. She didn't need cue cards; she'd been rehearshing this speech for months. One of her soldiers threw Watts a thumbs-up, and he typed in a quick command. Every television signal from Winnipeg to Sioux Falls to Beacon was now overriden.

"This is not a tragedy," Sienna began. "This is not an accident."

* * *

_Commanding Officer's Office_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin_

_1230 Local_

Ozpin stared at the television feed. It had been showing Pyrrha's camera pod, on the centerline of the F-16; the B-1, thankfully, had not been so equipped. The television stations had cut the feed, but not before everyone watching it had watched Penny Polendina die. Ironwood, behind him, had fallen back against the window jamb in shock. The talking head on the TV, who was trying to figure out what had gone wrong, suddenly derezzed and was replaced with a black queen chess piece, against a blood red field. "What in God's name?"

"This is not a tragedy. This is not an accident," the female voice said. It sounded dimly familiar, but he couldn't pick it out; there was the slightest hint of a British accent. "This is what happens when you hand over your trust, your safety, and your children to men and women who claim to be our guardians…but in reality, are nothing more than fallible human beings."

The door flew open, admitting Glynda Goodwitch. She was still in her flight suit; she'd arrived only a few minutes after Pyrrha and Penny had left. Ozpin looked up. She shook her head. "They can't cut the feed. Someone's hijacked the signal."

"You have handed over absolute power to people who cannot be trusted with it," the voice continued. "They cling to this power in the name of peace, but do we have peace? They built a robot killing machine, stuck a poor, innocent girl inside of it, and forced the Invincible Girl of Greece to kill her when it failed and began mercilessly targeting civilians. And _this_ is what we trust our safety to against the GRIMM! We are not safe. _You_ are not safe."

"Goddammit," Ironwood snarled, "who the hell _is_ that?"

"And in this critical exercise, in the frontline at Vytal Flag, command is given to a tired old man, who refuses to retire. A man who began the Huntsman/Huntress program, but one who has lost control. His pilots claim to carry themselves with honor and mercy—and have done neither. Today was avoidable; yesterday was outright murder as Captain Yang Xiao Long killed Lieutenant Mercury Black in revenge for a minor slight. Perhaps Captain Oscar Ozpin felt that Vytal Flag would cause you, the public, to forget his near failure to protect La Crosse from a GRIMM attack. Or perhaps this was the attempt of America's elected leaders to convince you that they control the frontiers. To be honest, I do not know or care who is right or wrong. But peace is fragile, and the leaders of our nations conduct their business with barely concealed contempt for one another, with iron gloves, often at the behest of corporations like the Schnee Company.

"I am from Europe, and I can assure you that the situation there is no better. We are constantly on the brink of war, and yet we, the citizens, are left in the dark. So I ask you, citizens of the world: when it is demonstrated that your leaders are no longer in control, that all their military might cannot stop the GRIMM…who do you think you can trust?"

* * *

_KVLY-TV Tower, North Dakota Dead Zone_

_1245 Local_

Sienna switched the microphone off and walked out of the shack. "Well?" she asked Watts.

"Well put, High Leader." He scooted over to the passenger seat. "Shall we go? I imagine this area will shortly be filled with a great deal of GRIMM. We're not their target, but they're not terribly intelligent."

"Let's go." She climbed into the driver's seat and nodded towards one of her men. "Brian, let Hector know to start loading the C-130. We leave in three hours."


	23. The Final Countdown

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry about the delay. With everything going on in the world-all my teaching switching to online, and slightly obsessively checking the coronavirus outbreak a lot-it took me longer than I thought with this chapter. Then again, it also turned out to be one of the longest chapters in "On RWBY Wings," so there you go._

_The Battle of Beacon begins here. As usual, I tried to be as accurate as possible, but I undoubtedly got some details wrong-especially when it comes to how a computer virus works. I'm very much not a tech guy, so I'm just guessing here. Hey, it works that way in Hollywood._

_Many thanks to Top Hat Guy for his creation of 2 Troop, C Squadron. They're in here, THG, and will be for the rest of the battle. _

* * *

_Transient Aircraft Ramp_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1310 Local_

Ruby Rose was walking aimlessly. She had been at the Officers' Club, getting lunch and watching coverage of the B-1 Paladin mission. And she had watched one of her best friends die, in living color and on live television.

In the chaos of that, as pilots had left the club, she'd walked out in a daze, unnoticed, unsure of where to go or who to talk to. She was crying, but it wasn't bawling; the tears just drifted down her cheeks, barely noticed. First Ruth Lionheart, now Penny Polendina. Her uncle Qrow had warned her that a fighter pilot's career was marked by tragedy as much as triumph: flying high-performance aircraft always left a small margin of error, and pilots died with depressing regularlity. She'd barely started her career and already been to one funeral, not counting her mother's. And now she'd have to go to another one.

She realized she was walking towards the dispersal area, and half-smiled: of course, when she needed comfort, she would gravitate towards her aircraft. _Stop this,_ Ruby told herself. _Penny said the B-1 could be remotely piloted. That means someone hacked it. We need to find out who. Stop moping around and find out who did this, Ruby Rose. Penny didn't just die in an accident or die in her sleep; she was murdered. And by God, I swear I'm going to find out who did this._ Then Ruby remembered Yang, and how she'd been set up. She turned on one foot, intending to run to Ozpin's office, but then the sound of a jet engine caused her to look up, as Pyrrha Nikos entered the downwind leg to land. She heard a roar of chattering behind her, and saw a small horde of news reporters and cameramen heading for the dispersal area, kept back by a rope.

"Ruby!" She turned and saw Coco Adel and Yatsuhachi Daichi running towards her. "Did you hear?" Then Coco noticed the tear stains on Ruby's cheeks. "Oh."

Ruby dried her tears on her sleeve. "Guys, those media guys are going to tear Pyrrha apart."

"Not if we have anything to say about it." All three headed for the dispersal.

Air police were holding back the media as Pyrrha landed and began taxiing to her hardstand. A ground crewman diverted her to the transient ramp, back to where she had been parked before, though now Glynda's F-22 was parked where Penny's B-1 had been. She taxiied in and shut down the engine, and her crew chief put the ladder on the canopy rim as soon as she opened her canopy—away from the press. Cameras whirred and clicked like locusts as she unstrapped, got out, and unsteadily made her way down the ladder.

Ruby ran towards Pyrrha, as Coco and Yatsuhachi peeled off, forming a guard line of sorts behind the air policemen. Pyrrha got to the ground, then leaned against the ladder. "Pyrrha?" Ruby asked.

Pyrrha looked over, her face drawn, tears still running down her face, her eyes puffy and red. "Oh God," she said, at the sight of Ruby. "Oh God, Ruby, I'm so sorry. I killed Penny. God help me, I killed Penny. I killed—" Then she hurriedly stripped off her mask, fell to one knee, and vomited.

Ruby knelt beside her. "It's okay, Pyrrha. It's all right. You didn't kill Penny. It wasn't your fault." She rubbed the other woman's back. "It wasn't your fault, Pyrrha."

"I have to—have to report to Ozpin…" she struggled out. Pyrrha glanced up at the media. "Oh, no. Oh, no. They'll want to talk to me—"

"We won't let them. C'mon, Pyrrha." Ruby helped her to her feet. The crew chief pulled a rag out of his back pocket. It was dirty, but it was better than nothing, and Pyrrha wiped away the last of the vomit. She then took off her helmet, put it in its bag, took a deep breath, and nodded to Ruby. They began to walk towards the equipment room.

"Let me through! Dammit, let me through!" Jaune fought his way through the crowd of media, and was stopped by one of the air police; he was in his uniform rather than a flight suit. Coco, who was in her flight suit, stepped forward. "It's okay!" she shouted. "He's one of us." The policeman nodded, and raised the rope enough for Jaune to duck under. One of the reporters tried to get under as well, only to find himself confronted with six and a half feet of Yatsuhachi. He quickly shrank back under the barricade.

Jaune ran to Pyrrha's side. "Are you okay?" She didn't trust herself to speak, and it was something of a stupid question; he regretted it the moment he said it. Still, she nodded, and squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry," she said.

"It wasn't your fault," Ruby repeated.

"She's right," Jaune agreed. "Whoever made that broadcast—they're behind this. And we have to make sure they don't…" He suddenly went pale. "Oh, merde."

"What?" Ruby asked.

"Pyrrha. The gun camera pictures. Cinder's gun camera pictures. What if that wasn't an accident? What if she was _trying_ to kill Fox and Velvet?"

Pyrrha didn't answer, but Ruby's eyes widened. "And Mercury was the guy Yang shot down. If she was set up…"

"We have to get to Ozpin." Jaune began to lead Pyrrha away. They had to pass a corner of the barricade, and the media gravitated to that side quickly. "Major Nikos!" a reporter shouted. "Why did you kill Penny Polendina? How does that make you feel?"

Jaune didn't even stop walking. He merely turned and punched the man in the face. He went down, and Jaune pulled back bloody knuckles. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" he yelled. "We just lost a damned good friend, and you vultures want your damn _story?"_ He spit. "Fuck you! Fuck all of you!"

Then he rejoined Pyrrha and Ruby, and they began running towards Ozpin's office.

* * *

_Regency 26 (E-3A AWACS)_

_Eberle Line Track 4, Near Charles City, Iowa, United States of Canada_

_1320 Local_

Airman 1st Class Heather Cummings walked back to her station, glad to stretch her legs and use the bathroom. There wasn't much room to walk around in the E-3, even though it was a converted airliner airframe. She yawned, cracked her back, and resumed her seat. "I got it, Jeff." She put her headset back on, and felt the aircraft begin a gentle turn as it began to come around on its patrol track, a long oval from the Mississippi to midway across Iowa. Unlike a few days before, it was now back further from the Eberle Line, which degraded its radar a little, though it could still "see" across Minnesota. She picked up a blip at the northern edge of the radar's reach. She looked at the data block. "Wolf Den 34, this is Regency 26, state, over."

The voice that came back had the slight accent of the Canadian Plains. "Regency 26, Wolf Den 34 is a Charlie 130, heading to Beacon from Vancouver. Authorization is Tango Hotel Golf, over."

Cummings ran her finger down a list of authorizations on the side of her scope. "Confirmed, Wolf Den 34. You are clear through Minnesota. Be advised Vytal Flag exercise is complete for the day." _And then some,_ she thought. Regency had heard the radio conversation between Pyrrha and Penny. _Poor thing._

"We heard, Regency. Wolf Den 34 out."

She leaned back in her chair. Her back felt stiff; even cracking it hadn't really worked. She tried again, and this time it really popped, loud enough that the entire tracking crew stared at her. Cummings grinned sheepishly, but at least her back felt better. Now there were two blips on her screen, another one in northwestern Minnesota. "Regency 26, Rock 22," her radio crackled. "Request airspace clearance, over."

"Rock 22, Regency 26," she radioed back. "Course and heading?"

"Regency 26, Rock 22. Our course is three five zero to MOL, then southeast to ORD." Cummings translated that as that Rock 22 would fly to the Moose Lake waypoint, then southeast to Chicago-O'Hare. "Is Beacon airspace open?"

"Roger that, Rock 22. Do you have authorization?"

"Wait one, Regency." There was a pause. "Authorization is Romeo Tango Whiskey." Her finger went down the list again. It was at the bottom, but it was there: the flight plan had been filed that morning, from Hector to O'Hare, then to the aircraft's home base at Little Rock.

"Roger, Rock 22. You are cleared. Be advised of traffic that will be to the north in thirty minutes at about ten miles; that will be Wolf Den 34."

"Understood, Regency. Man, are we glad to get out of your guys' hair. That place was getting pretty lonely."

Rock 22 was not supposed to be so chatty, but Cummings let it go; she could imagine the crew was pretty relieved. "Keep the channel clear, Rock 22—"

Ahead of her, she saw one of the other controllers suddenly sit up straight. "Unidentified contact, bearing one two zero, heading zero one five." Cummings' eyes darted to the sector, but she kept her mouth shut; that was not her assigned sector. Even so, she saw nothing on scope but the two C-130s well to the north. She could hear the other controller trying to contact the bogey, to no avail. She spotted the blip on the second sweep. It was gone again, then back. Her chest tightened: that was almost the same thing she'd seen before the air pirate attack. Her fear only eased slightly a second later. The senior controller had seen it as well: he dashed down the aisle and stood over the controller in front of her. "Classify new contact as a Nevermore. Bearing one two zero, heading now zero two zero, speed four hundred, angels twenty."

"Where the hell did that come from?" Jeff whispered to Cummings. She shrugged; stealthy GRIMM like the Nevermore could usually evade ground radar. That was the purpose of the AWACS patrols. It was detected now, though.

"Beacon Control, this is Regency 26," the senior controller was radioing Beacon. "We have a Nevermore heading for the Barrier."

Cummings flipped on her radio. "Rock 22, Wolf Den 34, be advised, GRIMM to the south, range two hundred. Wolf Den 34, maintain course; Rock 22, shift your course north twenty miles, acknowledge."

* * *

_Crow 13_

_Near Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1325 Local_

Qrow Branwen took off his oxygen mask and massaged his face. He regretted not shaving that morning; his oxygen mask really didn't have the best seal unless he did. He was also breaking regulations by not shaving for four days, but Qrow had always regarded regulations as being basically suggestions. It was one reason why he was flying for Ozpin more or less directly rather than being assigned to any unit, much less the USAF's dedicated F-117 unit at Holloman in New Mexico.

He checked his navigation suite and came right a bit. The Nighthawk had an autopilot, but he preferred to hand fly as much as he could. It was a nice day out, and he was skimming along at around fifteen thousand feet. His radar transponder was off, and the faceted fuselage of the F-117 made him more or less invisible to radar—including that of the AWACS. Qrow liked doing this, to see if he could slip past the Eberle radar. Today, it wasn't a lark, but a test, to see how the F-22 might have sneaked up on Regency 26. The Raptor had a radar signature slightly greater than the Nighthawk, but only slightly. Still, he might get picked up by the AWACS, if the radar got enough of a return from the F-117. The design of the aircraft scattered radar signals in all directions, but it was still possible to get a return. He remembered a time over Yugoslavia when a SAM battery had locked onto him.

Then he heard the radio call from Regency 26 about the Nevermore. Qrow fastened his oxygen mask and thought a moment. He was supposed to fly to Ellsworth and take over the investigation on the Torchwick escape from Glynda, who had returned to Beacon, but GRIMM were GRIMM. His F-117 was modified for air combat: it carried four Sidewinders and a gunpod, all in an expanded internal weapons bay. Not ideal for engaging a Nevermore, but it would be a start.

Qrow reached forward and touched a button. On the spine of the F-117, a small panel popped open and activated a transponder, giving away his position; the last thing he needed was the AWACS thinking he was another GRIMM. "Regency 26, Crow 13, I'm in the area. I can intercept." He pushed up the throttle and turned north.

* * *

_Base Headquarters_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1330 Local_

Ozpin, Ironwood, and Glynda Goodwitch—still in her flight suit—were gathered around Ozpin's desk. He had gathered them together to go over what had gone wrong with Penny, expecting the phone call from the Secretary of Defense at any moment. Dreading might be a better word: Ozpin knew that, after the incidents with Ruth, Yang and now Penny, a summary relief was not out of the question.

The phone rang and Ozpin put it on speaker as he picked it up, but it wasn't the Secretary. "Captain Ozpin, this is the tower. Regency is tracking a Nevermore headed in our direction, about a hundred miles off."

"Anything else?" Ozpin asked.

"Not at the moment, sir."

"Very well. Who is on alert five?"

"Cardinal Flight, sir."

"Scramble them now." Ozpin quickly consulted a list he kept by his computer. "Has Funky Flight departed yet?"

"No, sir, they're still here," the Beacon controller answered.

"Tell them to backstop Cardinal in case they're needed." He grabbed a pencil, and quickly scratched off Bronze Flight; they had left Beacon the day before for home, their part in the exercise over. Coffee, Sun, Funky, Auburn and Indigo were still on base, as well as Glynda and her F-22 and Ciel Soleil with her F-15. And there was also Ruby Flight.

As Ozpin hung up, Ironwood looked at him. "Ozpin, no reason to scramble anything else. We've still got the Barrier, you know."

"I know." Ozpin had never really had much confidence in the four SAM batteries covering the Mississippi from Prairie du Chien to Superior; they hadn't been much use in the Battle of La Crosse because so many friendly aircraft were in the area.

Someone began knocking on the door. "Come in," Ozpin called out. Ruby, Jaune and Pyrrha burst in. "Captain Ozpin, we've got something we need to tell you, right now!" Ruby yelled.

"No reason to shout, Lieutenant; I'm right here." He saw Pyrrha. "Major Nikos. Let me be the first to say that what happened this afternoon was not your fault."

"Actually, you're about the third person to say that," Pyrrha sighed. She felt the old black cloak of depression settling over her: she'd killed again.

Glynda caught the expression on Pyrrha's face. "Major. Pyrrha. This is _not_ your fault. You saved hundreds of lives today."

"I couldn't save all of them."

Ruby gave Pyrrha a reassuring look, then stepped forward. "Captain, sir, there's something you need to know."

Ozpin turned his attention to her. "You have the floor, Lieutenant."

Ruby spotted the envelope on Ozpin's desk. She quickly opened it and shuffled out the prints. "These were taken by Major Fall—Cinder Fall's gun camera over La Crosse. Ruth found them." Glynda, Ozpin and Ironwood peered at the photographs.

"That's Fox Alasdair and Velvet Scarlatina's Tornado," Glynda observed.

"Right." Jaune got up next to Ruby and held up the note Ruth had written. "Ruth was in charge of getting gun camera confirmation of everyone's kills. She found these. According to her note, she confronted Cinder with it and Cinder said it was friendly fire."

"Yes, Lieutenant Arc, we can read," Ozpin said.

"Yeah," Ruby replied, forgetting rank, "but what if it was _deliberate?_ What if…oh, shit…" The truth dawned on Ruby. "Ruth—"

"Ruth Lionheart was murdered," Ironwood finished. "That stays in this room."

"So first Ruth, because Cinder was trying to kill Fox and Velvet. Then Mercury, because someone forged the form to load Yang's F-15 with live rounds—"

"That was Cinder as well," Ozpin interrupted. "All right. Unfortunately this does us no good, Lieutenant. Cinder Fall has disappeared. She drove off base yesterday—undoubtedly to evade capture. Emerald Sustrai is confined to quarters; we haven't determined if she was in on this yet."

"She has to be!" Jaune exclaimed. Then he remembered where he was. "Sir. When Emerald 'shot down' Coco during the exercise a few days ago? Coco said she never picked up Emerald's radar signature before Emerald fired. Coco was flying my Mirage, sir, and there was nothing wrong with the aircraft."

"He has a point," Glynda said to Ozpin.

"Very well. Lieutenant Rose, I want you to go to the Security Forces guard on your barracks room. Tell him he's relieved. As of this moment, Ruby Flight is restored to flight status. Major Nikos, wait outside. You as well, Lieutenant Arc."

Ruby grinned from ear to ear. "Yes, sir!" She gave him a salute—although they were inside, and it was against regulations—and dashed out the door. Pyrrha and Jaune followed her, closing the door behind them.

"It all fits," Ironwood said. "We were infiltrated from the beginning. Cinder, Mercury, possibly even Emerald. The question is, who are they working for?" He answered his own question a moment later. "Salem."

"They were probably supposed to help the White Fang attack Beacon, but Ruby Flight tripped the attack early. They stayed undercover and kept sabotaging Vytal Flag," Glynda put in.

"And getting the people of the world to lose faith in the military and their governments." Ozpin nodded. "Salem's modus operandi from the beginning."

The phone rang. Ozpin picked it up. "Captain Ozpin!" Secretary of Defense Jason Terasoma's voice crackled. "What in the hell happened today! You're in big—"

"I'll call you back," Ozpin replied calmly, and hung up. Ironwood and Glynda shared his smile. "Always wanted to do that." He picked up the phone again, and dialed Base Ordnance. "Major Logan. I want every aircraft we have loaded. Full fuel and weapons; load air to air. We're not going on alert just yet, but I want everything ready to go. Understand? Good man." Ozpin put down the phone.

Ironwood headed for the door. "I'm putting Emerald under arrest and getting her into the stockade. We don't know who we can trust now, and they might try to kill her to keep her from talking."

* * *

_Battery Charlie, 167__th__ Air Defense Artillery Regiment (Wisconsin National Guard)_

_Near Trempeleau, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1345 Hours Local_

Lieutenant Spencer Kelly finished his cigarette and tossed it into a mud puddle, making sure it was out. The last thing they needed was another grass fire. He then walked into the control van for Battery Charlie. "How's it looking, Sarge?"

Sergeant Brooks Quinn looked over his shoulder. "Pretty good, LT. It's a single Nevermore. Should be in range in three minutes."

"We have authorization to shoot from the SADCO?" Kelly referred to the Sector Air Defense Commander, in this case located on Regency 26.

"Yeah. Just waiting for the word from the major."

Kelly sat down in one of the three seats in the van. Battery Charlie consisted of six launchers of MIM-104 Patriot surface-to-air missiles, with a total of 24 missiles. They covered the zone from La Crosse to Buffalo City, along the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi River. Stationed with the battery was the guidance radar, which had already picked up the Nevermore, though it was having trouble locking on. Each crew was drawn from the Wisconsin National Guard, who were rotated through the Barrier every month, and Kelly's battery was eager. They'd had to hold fire during the Battle of La Crosse, and the Air Force and the Navy had gotten all the credit. They usually did. Now the Army would get its chance.

That reminded Kelly of something. "Beacon scrambled its CAP, right?"

"Yes, sir. They're holding east of us. If we don't kill the bastard, they'll finish it off."

"Good." The fighter pilots tended to get too eager for kills, and though friendly fire incidents weren't rare, they also weren't unknown.

"Battery Charlie, this is the TD." Kelly slipped on his headset. It was the tactical director, a major at La Crosse.

"Battery Charlie, go."

"You are authorized to engage the Nevermore." The order was terse and to the point.

"Roger. Engaging." Kelly turned to Quinn. "Sarge, engage." Quinn nodded, and switched the Patriot system from standby mode to operational mode. He selected two launchers, Bravo and Charlie, which trained out from their fixed positions. "Locked on."

"Shoot."

Quinn switched the mode to ENGAGE. "Birds away." The ground shook as two of the batteries ripple fired eight missiles. It was automatic from this point: an uplink in each of the missiles' tails picked up targeting information from the Patriot's radar, and they curved up and west. Each missile carried two hundred pounds of high explosive, enough to hopefully bring the Nevermore down. Quinn's fingers hovered on Charlie and Delta launchers, preparing to fire them if it was necessary.

* * *

_Crow 13_

_Near Former Rochester, Minnesota Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_1350 Hours Local_

Qrow tailed the Nevermore from ten miles. The Nevermore had radars that faced in every direction, and had he been flying a non-stealthy aircraft, it would have picked him up by now, but the F-117 was not dectected. His transponder was retracted, not just so the Nevermore wouldn't pick him up, but also against the small possibility one of the Patriots would.

He could see the white trails of the missiles. The Patriots had climbed to nearly 75,000 feet before they would descend on the Nevermore. He wondered how many would get through: the Nevermore's stealth might defeat some of the missiles, while the gun batteries on the GRIMM would account for more. He had no intention of closing in unless he had to; let the Army earn their pay.

One of the Patriots had already lost lock, and was going its own way, harmlessly curving to the north. The other five stayed locked on. Qrow climbed a little, so he could see how many survived the barrage of antimissile fire.

Strangely, there was none.

All five missiles hit, tracing a perfect pattern of hits down the delta wing of the Nevermore. Flames burst from hits, and the GRIMM lost altitude. Qrow got ready to let Regency know the target was destroyed, but then the GRIMM struggled back up to almost its original altitude and kept flying.

* * *

_Battery Charlie_

_1352 Hours Local_

"Still on scope," Quinn said. "We've got five confirmed hits, but it's still up there."

"Hit him again," Kelly ordered. Quinn switched on Delta and Echo launchers.

Unknown to either man, deep inside the computer system of the 167th ADA, the Black Queen virus was already active. Since Cinder had uploaded it weeks before, it had lurked inside the main computer at Beacon, disguising itself as an antivirus program. The actual antivirus system recognized it as friendly, and did not go after it. It then slowly replicated itself, infiltrating a number of systems, not just at Beacon, but across the Army units as well. It wasn't as successful as Arthur Watts hoped—it actually infiltrated only a few systems, having been written to avoid detection more than to infect. One of the systems the Black Queen _had_ infected, however, was the 167th ADA's radar and control systems. It had lain dormant, until the system was switched on to engage the Nevermore. Now the Black Queen woke up, and took control.

Quinn had not pressed the engage switch before Delta launcher fired three missiles, then rotated around to the north, and fired one more. Alpha launcher suddenly trained itself out to the east, and fired four missiles as well.

"What the fuck?" Quinn yelled.

"What happened?" Kelly asked. "Did you shoot?"

"No! I don't fucking know! It's engaging on its own!" He checked the radar. "Oh shit. It's reading every contact as enemy."

"Oh, Christ!" Kelly screamed. "Shut it down!"

Quinn reached out and switched the system back into standby. This worked: the launchers resumed their initial position. "Do _not_ turn that fucker back on!" Kelly was out of his seat, and thumbed the radio channel to Guard. "All aircraft, La Crosse area! Bittersweet, repeat, bittersweet!" This was a warning to every friendly aircraft that SAMs were in the air and a friendly fire situation was developing. Then he looked at the radar data. "Buddy lock! All aircraft, La Crosse area, buddy lock!"

* * *

_Crow 13_

_1354 Local_

Qrow saw the Patriots rising up again. Two curved towards the burning Nevermore, but one shifted from its track, towards him. The radar had gotten just enough of a hit to classify him as a bandit.

"Shit, not _again!"_ Qrow yelled. He didn't break away just yet: he waited a precious two seconds as the missile closed in. Then he rolled over and dived hard, away from the Patriot. The missile, unable to compensate for the sudden turn, and without a decent lock to begin with, flew harmlessly past. Qrow came out of the dive and looked to his left: the Nevermore was hit again, and this time began to break up, losing huge pieces before it almost gently went into a shallow dive and hit the side of a ridge.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked no one in particular.

* * *

_Cardinal Flight_

_1355 Local_

Cardin Winchester had been alternately bored and excited, if that was possible. Engaging a Nevermore was never a fun prospect, but those three kill marks beneath his canopy were getting lonely. Instead of rocketing over the Mississippi and engaging the Nevermore, he was stuck in a holding pattern with Russel Thrush, Dove Bronzewing, and Sky Lark, waiting for the Army pukes to wake up and do their damn job.

He'd seen the missiles launch—Charlie Battery was below and to the right, and it had disappeared behind him as he made his circle. He craned his head around and followed the missile trails, but he couldn't see if they hit or not; the Nevermore was still not in visual range. He didn't hear a splash call from Regency or the Army, so Cardin assumed they'd screwed it up again, either a clean miss or a damaged. He hoped for the former; no way in hell was Cardin Winchester going to share a kill with some groundpounder.

Then, as he came around, he saw the four missile trails reaching out for him, and heard the buddy lock call. "Fuck!" he screamed. "Cardin, buddy lock!"

"Dove, buddy lock!"

"Sky, buddy lock!" Their voices were overriding and overlapping each other.

The flight instantly fell apart. Russel alone was not engaged; the missile fired at him just happened to be the last, and it malfunctioned when the battery went into standby mode. The missile flew to parts unknown, but the rest of Cardinal was in trouble.

Cardinal did as Qrow did: he waited until he felt like his rear end was grabbing his backbone and his bladder was about to let go, then flung the F-15 towards the missile. Like Qrow, the missile could not compensate for the sudden change in aspect by the target; it detonated anyway, almost in hope that it might fulfill its programming, but the fragments missed Cardin entirely.

Sky timed his turn and dive a fraction too late. He was flying a borrowed USAF F-16, and he was just unfamiliar enough with its flying characteristics, compared to the Hawk he had flown before, that he reacted too fast. Instead of the missile losing lock and missing, it compensated, and exploded just behind the F-16. Most of the tail was torn off, and the engine absorbed even more damage. The F-16 pitched up. Sky looked at his instrument panel, which was lighting up with fire and system loss warnings. Sky rolled his eyes, tightened his straps, and for the second time since he'd been at Vytal Flag, ejected over the eastern shore of the Mississippi River.

"Cardin, you're clear!" Russel called out. "Sky's hit!"

Cardin breathed a prayer and leveled out, looking for both more missile trails and his flight. He saw Sky's F-16 in a flat spin, headed for the water, but as he watched, a parachute blossomed above the smoke column. He turned and flew past; Sky waved both hands to show he was all right. "Beacon, Cardin," he called out. "Sky's down near Trempeleau. Dove, where are you?" There was no response. He couldn't see the CF-18. "Dove, Cardin, come in."

"Cardin, Russel." Russel's voice was heavy with emotion. "Dove's gone." Cardin then saw the fourth smoke column, one that ended in a fireball that hit the trees and turned into a black mushroom cloud. "No beeper, no chute."

Cardin called out helplessly for another minute, but Dove Bronzewing never replied.

* * *

_Wolf Den 34_

_Near Durand, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1355 Local_

Major Jacob Gagnon stared out the circular window of the C-130 Hercules, watching the St. Croix River slide by below. Most of his men—2 Troop, C Squadron of Delta Force—dozed in the mesh seats that lined the interior of the C-130; the troop's equipment was stowed in the middle. Bored, he decided to unstrap and go up to the cockpit. He enjoyed flying, but if he had a choice, he'd be in something with jets. The C-130 was ironically nicknamed the European Whisper Jet, and crews claimed it was pressurized to keep the noise _inside._ His men had been issued ear protectors, but because Gagnon wanted to chat with the crew, he took his out. Instantly, he was assaulted with the roar of the four Allison turboprops.

He stepped up to the cockpit; the view was much better there. The flight engineer turned to him. "Afternoon, Major. We're still about thirty minutes or so out from Beacon. Might have to circle a bit; they just had a scramble."

Gagnon sat down in the jump seat, and grabbed a headset slung over a hook behind him, so he wouldn't have to yell. "What happened?"

"A GRIMM was sighted over southern Minnesota. A Nevermore. They're going to get it with Patriots, and—"

"What the hell is _that?"_ The C-130 pilot said, and pointed upwards through the eyebrow windows of the glasshouse cockpit. A smoke trail was heading towards them. Then he heard Battery Charlie's warning. "Oh _shit!_ Wolf Den 34, buddy spike!"

Gagnon's eyes widened as he saw the smoke trail suddenly disappear, which meant the missile was now pointed directly at them. The pilot grabbed the throttles and rammed them forward, then pushed the control wheel hard to the right and down. The copilot hit the C-130's countermeasures; luckily the aircraft had been configured with them. Flares poured out of launchers towards the rear of the aircraft, leaving a smoke pattern like that of an angel's wings. Gagnon, who grabbed both straps of the jump seat and held on, knew it was a useless gesture: the Patriot was radar-guided. He closed his eyes and murmured a Hail Mary: the C-130 was a transport, not a fighter, and even a fighter would struggle to dodge a Patriot.

But then the crew of Wolf Den 34 got a break. When the radar was switched to standby, it lost lock on the C-130. The missile's electronic brain still remembered generally where the target was, and remained on course until it detonated. Instead of the missile's warhead tearing the C-130 apart, most of the fragments missed. Two hit the tail for superficial damage, but more hit the port wing.

"Help me hold the bitch!" the pilot screamed, and the copilot grabbed the control wheel. With their combined effort, they got the C-130 back to level flight, but as the pilot went to pull back the throttles, the transport suddenly heeled to the left. Both crew fought the controls, and once more it leveled out, but Gagnon, opening his eyes, could tell they were fighting it.

"Bob, tell me some good news," the pilot yelled over his shoulder.

The flight engineer looked at his panel, and although Gagnon was not a pilot, even he knew there wasn't any good news. "We got problems, babe. Number one's gone, and we're losing oil pressure on number two. Don't have much longer on that one. Got fire lights." He pulled both extinguishers. "Losing fuel, too."

"Yeah, I can see that. Okay, feather one and two. Shut two down." The pilot tested the controls as the copilot yanked back the throttles for the two engines on the port wing. "Other than she keeps pulling towards the dead engines, I think we can hold her."

"Fire's out," the flight engineer reported.

The pilot was now leaning into the controls. "Fuck. We're not going to make Beacon." He hit the radio switch. "Beacon Control, Beacon Control, this is Wolf Den 34, declaring an emergency. We've got two engines out and heavy damage. Cannot make Beacon, advise."

Through the headphones, Gagnon could hear the reply. "Wolf Den 34, Beacon. Understand you are declaring an emergency. Can you make Eau Claire at zero-nine-zero?"

The pilot glanced out the window to the left. "Negative, Beacon; I think we'll lose the wing if we try."

"Wolf Den 34, Beacon. Bloyer Field is at two-zero-one, your one o'clock low. It's got one runway, but you should make it in. That's the nearest field, over."

"You want to get picky and make it a field?" the pilot chuckled. "Roger that, Beacon; we can make Bloyer. Make sure they know we're coming. Wolf Den 34, out."

Gagnon pulled off his headset and jumped down to the main cabin. It was a mess: none of the men had been strapped in, since they were not on approach yet, and they had been thrown around the cabin. Luckily, none of their gear, lashed to the deck, had broken loose. He shouted over the engine noise. "Check in! Everyone all right?"

He saw thumbs up and yells of confirmation. None of them seemed to be badly hurt, though Master Sergeant Hopkins was looking at his arm, working his fingers to get feeling back in them. The troop's medic saw him and went over to check.

"Major!" Gagnon turned to see the flight engineer waving for his attention. The lieutenant pulled off his headset and cupped his hands to make himself heard. "Get your men into crash positions! We're coming in hard!"

"That's what she said!" Hopkins yelled out, then yelled something else more earthy as the medic straightened his arm. Gagnon evaluated the wound expertly: it was a broken arm.

He helped his troop into the seats, then resumed his own, watching out the window. He saw both engines on that side stopped, the propellers feathered, smoke still streaming from them, along with a clear liquid he knew was fuel. He tightened the straps as the ground got closer and closer.

"Brace!" the flight engineer shouted. Gagnon crossed his arms in front of himself and leaned forward.

The C-130 landed in the overrun, the crew taking all the runway they could. They held off on throwing the remaining propellers into reverse pitch, which could throw the transport into a deadly groundloop. Instead, both pilot and copilot leaned on the toe brakes, and a screeching noise resounded through the cabin, and Gagnon's view was obscured by white smoke. There was a bang as one tire blew, and then the crew reversed the propellers. The C-130 began to fishtail and slew, but somehow the crew kept it roughly on the centerline. The skidding noise lessened in volume, the aircraft began to slow, and finally it came to a halt.

Gagnon was already out of his seat. "Get out! Leave the kit!" The back of the fuselage opened as the flight engineer lowered the loading ramp, while Gagnon grabbed the crew door on the opposite side of the aircraft and levered it open. He then counted off his men as they ran out the rear ramp or out his door. Once he was sure they were out, Gagnon jumped out the door himself. The crew was right behind him, the pilot—as custom—the last to leave the aircraft.

They moved away from the C-130, half expecting the overheated brakes to touch off the fuel. Army personnel were swarming the aircraft with handheld fire extinguishers; Bloyer Field was on Fort McCoy, but it evidently wasn't used for more than helicopters.

A tall brunette dressed in tanker fatigues ran up to him. "Major! Are you all right?"

He read the nametape, and quickly looked up; this Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata's figure was not hidden by the fatigues. "I'm fine, Captain. What's your unit?"

She abruptly remembered to salute. "Sir. 2nd Battalion, 37th Armored."

Gagnon returned the salute. "Well, Captain, assuming the C-130 doesn't blow up, we're going to get our stuff off, eh? We've been ordered to Beacon by General Ironwood. Can you secure us transport?"

She smiled. "You bet, Major. Be right back."

The medic came up to Gagnon. "No injuries, sir, other than Sergeant Hopkins. I think he's got a greenstick fracture. Nothing serious."

"Okay. Carry on." He shook his head. "That was a hell of a way to arrive."

He looked up at the sound of turboprops. It was another C-130 in the distance, headed for Beacon. He wondered who it was.


	24. This Will Be the Day

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Again, running late. It's tough to write a story about death and destructon when there's so much of it IRL. But we will press on._

_Incidentally, Neo has her longest line to date in this._

* * *

_Rock 22_

_Near Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1400 Hours Local_

Sienna Khan balanced herself between the pilot and copilot's seats as the C-130 flew through a bit of turbulence. She checked her watch. They'd had to move up their attack time, as Salem's "surprise" was running a little early. She didn't like it: instead of going in around dinner time, when JRB Beacon could be expected to be relaxing at the end of the day, the White Fang were attacking in broad daylight, in the middle of the afternoon. Then again, that in itself could be an advantage, and it was certainly working to their advantage to be following Wolf Den 34 past the Mississippi River.

Octavia was flying the C-130; she was the only White Fang operative in North America with multiengine qualification. In the copilot's seat was Roman Torchwick, who had some time on multiengine aircraft as well. Sienna glanced behind her: there were thirty soldiers in the back, all dressed in captured fatigues with white White Fang jerkins.

Sienna reached forward and tapped Roman on the shoulder. He nodded. "Beacon, Rock 22. We've developed engine trouble. We're going to need to put down."

"Rock 22, Beacon. Did you get hit?"

"Ah, negative, Beacon. We've been fighting engine problems for the past week. Had to put in at Hector."

"Are you declaring an emergency, Rock 22?"

Roman hesitated. "Negative, Beacon," he finally replied. "Just playing it safe."

Beacon Tower hesitated as well. After a moment, they came back on. "Roger, Rock 22. You are cleared to land on Runway 03 Left. Visibility is twelve miles with scattered to broken clouds, winds are calm. No other traffic your area."

"Much obliged, Beacon." Roman waited until Octavia had begun her turn for approach, then drew back the throttle for engine number four. "Feathering four?"

Octavia pushed the other throttles forward to compensate. "Why?"

"In case someone is watching us through binoculars." He looked back at Sienna. "Seven minutes." She nodded, took off her headset, and dropped back down to the hold, holding up seven fingers.

* * *

_Moonslice_

_Near Black River Falls, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1405 Hours Local_

Adam Taurus grinned behind his oxygen mask as he hurtled over ridges, bending trees in his wake. He'd taken a big chance: he'd flown at high speed and low level since leaving Hector, rather than trying to fly in close formation with the C-130 so their radar signatures would blend together. Adam was betting that the AWACS would be too busy dealing with the Nevermore, and over the lakes and forests of northern Minnesota, the E-3's radar would be degraded. So far, it had worked, but their luck could not hold for much longer.

The assault would begin in two minutes, according to the clock on his instrument panel. As he went over one ridge, he looked at his fuel. The two drop tanks underneath the Moonslice's wings were running close to empty. He'd hold onto them as long as he could before dropping them, to wring every last bit of fuel from them. The Moonslice didn't have a lot of internal fuel.

His Radar Warning Reciever beeped for his intention, and Adam's eyes instantly went towards the threat display. An air search radar was looking at him. "Neo, you'd better be doing your job," he said. He didn't have the fuel to dogfight. Not yet.

* * *

_Cardinal Flight_

_Near Tunnel Hill, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1407 Hours Local_

"Whoa, what's that?" Russel Thrush looked at his radar display in the center of the instrument panel. "Cardin, Russel, I've got a bogey bearing zero seven one, twenty miles." There was no response. "Cardin, Russel."

Cardin was still staring at the smoking remains of Dove Bronzewing's F-18. He'd called for his friend a dozen times, but there was no response. There was no beeper or parachute. Cardin could not believe that Dove was gone. He heard Russel's call, but could not find his voice. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

And in doing so, Cardin made two near fatal mistakes: he lost situational awareness, and he flew in a straight line. As a result, he never saw the blood red F-22 suddenly drop out of the clouds. Neo smiled, centered the gunsight between the two engines of Cardin's F-15, and fired a Sidewinder.

The shriek of his RWR broke Cardin out of his shock, and he slammed the stick to one side, dropping flares. His reflexes saved him: the Sidewinder tracked on one of the flares and exploded. He looked behind the twin tails and saw the F-22 dropping down behind him. "Russel, I got a Raptor climbing up my ass!"

Russel, who had been turning east to identify the bogey, saw Cardin in a hard left break, the F-22 hot on his tail. "Fuck! Where the hell did he come from?" He snapped the stick over and felt the G-suit squeeze hard as he racked the F-16 hard to the left. The Raptor flew into his gunsight: it would be a tough deflection shot, but Russel fired a Sidewinder anyway; if nothing else, it would force the bandit off Cardin's tail.

Neo had seen the F-16 curving in out of the corner of her eye. She skidded the Raptor, using its vectored thrust to suddenly change direction, rotating the nose away from Cardin and her engines away from the Sidewinder, while dropping flares herself. The missile, which never had a great lock to begin with, sailed past, and now Russel was in range. Neo switched to guns and opened fire as they passed head-on. Cannon shells flew down the F-16's underslung intake and along the lower fuselage, and smashed into the engine.

"Oh shit!" Russel shouted. Fire warning lights went on instantly, and he could feel the fighter losing power. "Cardin, Russel, I'm hit. I gotta get out. Sorry." He braced himself, reached between his legs, and pulled the ejection handle.

Neo smiled as she saw the pilot eject from the burning F-16. Now it was just her and the F-15. She pressed the radio button. "Neo to Adam. You're clear."

* * *

_Base Headquarters_

_1409 Hours Local_

Ozpin's fingers tightened around the phone. "Are you sure, General?"

"We're sure, Captain," Major General Miguel Calavera replied. "We've had to shut down the entire barrier. We're afraid if we switch the SAMs back on, they'll just start engaging everything that flies again. As it is, they shot down two friendly fighters and forced a C-130 to crashland at Camp McCoy, as well as the Nevermore. It's some sort of systemwide computer error…or it's an act of sabotage."

"How so, General?"

"I think we've been hacked."

Ozpin glanced upwards as Pyrrha and Jaune were ushered back in the office by Glynda. Then a light began blinking on the phone; the control tower was trying to reach him. "General, wait one, please." He put Calavera on hold and punched the button. "Ozpin."

"Control tower, sir. Something weird's going on. Cardinal Flight is still over by La Crosse—what's left of them. They're engaged with a F-22, and—and we just lost Russel Thrush. He just got shot down. Russel reported tracking a bogey before then, but we think it was a different contact."

Ozpin went pale. "What's in our airspace right now?"

"Just Rock 22—a C-130 with engine trouble. Landing right now."

"Sound air raid warning. Scramble all fighters."

"Sir?" the senior controller asked.

"You heard me. Scramble everything we have. I don't want to be caught on the ground." The controller gave an affirmative and hung up. He got Calavera back on the line. "General, we may be under attack. I'm putting everything I have in the air. I suggest you go on alert, just the same."

"Will do, Captain. Listen—I've got 2 Troop of Delta Force at Camp McCoy; they were on the C-130 that crashlanded."

"James had mentioned he'd requested them, just in case the White Fang should attack." Ozpin didn't mention that he thought it was overkill. Delta Force were the very best the United States had; they were far better than the White Fang.

"Yeah. I thought about bringing them out here, but if Beacon's under attack, it sounds like you need them more than me. I'll get them to you most ricky tick." Ozpin smiled at the latter; it was an old expression from the Vietnam War that had made it into American military lexicon.

"It can't hurt, General. Thank you. I'll call you back when I know more." Ozpin hung up as air raid sirens began to go off around the base. "Major Nikos, Lieutenant Arc—we're scrambling. Get to your aircraft immediately."

"About Amber, sir—" Pyrrha began.

He held up a hand. "Worry about her later. Go." Both came to attention and then dashed out the door. Glynda began to go as well, but Ozpin stopped her. "Hold on a moment, Glynda."

"Why? I need to get into the air too."

"Not yet," Ozpin said. "This is just beginning."

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_1411 Hours Local_

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but you can't relieve me," the air policeman said, hands behind his back. "Until I get a direct order from my superior officer or from Captain Ozpin, I have to stay at my post."

Ruby almost stomped her foot in frustration. "But Airman, I'm telling you, he told me to tell you that you're relieved!"

The air policeman shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but—" The air raid sirens went off, and the loudspeaker blared _"Active air scramble. This is no drill."_

The dorm room door opened and Blake stuck her head out. "Ruby? What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know, but we're back on flight status!" She stared daggers at the airman. "Captain Ozpin said so!"

"Let's go." Blake flung open the door. Ruby dashed in and stripped down to her underwear; Weiss was already pulling her flight suit on. Yang was doing the same, as Zwei ran around, yipping, knowing something was wrong, by the urgency of the humans and the noise of the alarm. Blake tossed Ruby's flight suit towards her and grabbed her own. They were all suited up in a minute, even if Yang was still struggling to get her zipper over her bosom as they headed out.

"Hey!" the air policeman said as Yang left the room, his hand going to his pistol. "You can't leave! You're still under—"

Yang fixed him with a look. "Listen, asshole," she snarled. "I'm getting in my aircraft. I'm scrambling with my flight. You have two choices. You can shoot me or you can let me go. Which is it?"

The airman hesitated. As Ruby Flight headed for the stairs, he tagged along, deciding that at least this way he was still technically keeping an eye on Yang.

* * *

_Rock 22_

_1413 Hours Local_

Octavia smoothly taxiied the C-130 to the transient aircraft tarmac, following the airman guiding her in with hand signals. For added effect, she feathered the number three engine, then stopped the engines entirely. "We're here," she called out.

Sienna cracked her back, checked the M4, and clicked the safety off. "Remember the plan!" she shouted to her soldiers. "I will lead Team One to the pilots' dorms and kill them. Ilia, you'll take Team Two and destroy the aircraft—Roman, you follow them and take your pick."

Roman unstrapped from the copilot's seat. "Sounds like fun."

She pointed to a goateed bat Faunus."Yuma will take Team Three to the end of the runway. If anything gets in the air, shoot it down. Adam should be making an appearance soon, and he'll make a few strafing runs." She didn't like the last part, but continued on. "Blake Belladonna is to be taken alive. Everyone else is expendable. We may run into Cinder Fall's team, but I'm not aware of her movements, so we're not waiting for her. Also, we can expect to get more support from this Salem person, and Neo Politan is on top cover until Roman gets up there to help her. You have thirty minutes! After that, exfiltrate to the north or anyway you can, and meet up at the rally point." She nodded at them. "Good luck. Let's make the humans pay for what they've done! This is the day we've waited for!" She saluted them with an upraised fist. Her soldiers returned it.

Roman opened the rear ramp. The White Fang tensed as one, weapons coming up, hearts hammering. He noticed three or four of the Faunus touch hands, or hold hands for a moment; one hurriedly broke off from the main group to urinate in a bucket. Then the ramp was down. One of the ground crew stuck his head around the side. His eyes widened.

"White Fang!" Sienna shouted.

"_WHITE FANG!"_ they responded, and charged out the back of the ramp.

The first to die were the ground crew that had come out to chock the C-130. With no weapons, they were overrun in a matter of seconds. Next was Ciel Soleil, who was out preflighting her F-15 for a long, sad trip back to Eglin AFB. Ciel and her crew chief spotted the White Fang coming out of the transport; Ciel shouted a warning, and shoved the sergeant out of the way. She went for the .38 pistol in her shoulder holster, but had barely cleared it when Sienna raised her M4 and opened fire. Bullets caught Ciel in the chest and she went down. Sienna quickly jogged towards her as Ciel began to helplessly crawl for the ladder of her aircraft. The White Fang High Leader kicked the pistol aside, turned over the pilot with a toe. Ciel bared bloody teeth at her. "_Pika twa, cochon,"_ she hissed.

Sienna shot her in the head. Then she pulled a grenade from her web gear, climbed up the ladder to the cockpit, and tossed it in. She ran off as it exploded, blowing the canopy off. She looked at the F-22 parked a few paces distant, and decided to leave it. Roman just might want it. She motioned her troops forward. Her team followed her, as Ilia's team headed for the dispersal and Yuma's group headed for the runways. As they did, they saw a F-15 and a F-14 begin to take off, afterburners leaving a white trail of shock diamonds.

* * *

So did Adam. He came over the northern perimeter of Beacon, intending to make a strafing run, but then saw the two aircraft rolling down the runway. He broke off his run and rolled left.

* * *

Blake was the first out of the FOQ, followed by Ruby. Ruby's head whipped around. "Whoa! What's that?" Then it turned, revealing its profile. Her silver eyes widened. "Oh, cool! Forward-swept wings! I've never…" Her voice trailed off, as she realized what that meant.

Blake stopped cold. "Moonslice," she breathed. "Adam."

"Fuck him!" Yang shouted. "Look!" She pointed. There were at least twenty White Fang coming up Arryn Avenue.

"Back inside!" Weiss ordered; they were easy targets out in the open. The White Fang saw them, and three of them dropped to one knee and fired. They flung themselves back into the dorm, nearly knocking over Nora, who had been rushing out the stairs, and Velvet, who was running down the hallway, hopping as she pulled on one boot. Bullets shattered the entrance door windows; one ricocheted off and hit the air policeman in the shoulder.

"Shit!" Nora pulled the airman down the hall. Blood was running from the wound, and she put her hands on it. Blake pulled her ribbon off her ears and threw it to her. "Anybody bring weapons?" she asked. She pulled a knife out of her boot.

"They're all locked up in the equipment room!" Weiss yelled back.

Ruby reached over and took the air policeman's pistol out of the holster, checked the clip to see if it was loaded, and slammed it back home. "We got this—eight shots."

Yang grinned wanly. "Well, maybe we can get them to line up in a row."

* * *

Adam shook his head minutely; it was almost too easy. He closed the distance fast and switched to guns, aiming for the F-15 first. He pulled the trigger. Twenty millimeter shells sparkled as they hit the runway in front of the fighter, then miraculously missed the cockpit to march the length of the Eagle. Flames burst from holed fuel tanks. The F-15's nose came up, then slammed back down, then skidded off the runway, the canopy separating and the pilot ejecting. Adam swept past and shifted to the Tomcat, but it was already in the air and rocketing into a climb he could not hope to match. He broke away and began to circle back for another run at the dispersal.

* * *

Pyrrha and Jaune were running down the street, joined by Ren and Fox Alasdair. They too saw the White Fang and went to cover in the park. "Damn," Fox said. "Anyone bring a gun?"

"Can't say as I have," Jaune replied. Two Security Forces came running towards them, in battle gear—the headquarters guards. The White Fang opened fire on them, and both men joined the four pilots under cover. Bullets sang through the trees and branches, scattering leaves over them. The policemen popped up, fired three shots apiece, then dropped back down.

"May I borrow this?" Ren asked, pointing to the SF man's holster.

"Help yourself," the sergeant replied. Ren took the pistol and grabbed the another from the other policeman. "Who's the best shot?"

"Hand it here," Pyrrha said. He did so, and they added their fire to the two Security Forces. The combined fire was enough to make the White Fang seek cover.

* * *

_Camp McCoy_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1420 Hours Local_

Major Jacob Gagnon watched as his men loaded their gear into a deuce and a half truck. Sergeant Sean Fletcher walked up to him. "Should be ready to go in about two minutes, sir."

"Good." He looked up at the sky. There was smoke on the horizon, and they could see curls of contrails. "Some kind of air battle up there." He turned as Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata ran up to him. "Major," she said breathlessly, "we just got a report from Beacon. Very strange—they're reporting they're under ground attack."

"Who the hell would be attacking by _ground?"_ Gagnon asked.

"White Fang. A whole bunch of them; at least forty, possibly more. The tower's still on the air, and they report possible air attack as well."

"The White Fang?" Fletcher wanted to know. "This deep into the Remnant?"

Gagnon whistled. "Break out your kit!" he shouted. "We're going into a fight! White Fang are assaulting Beacon!" His men didn't question the order; they began immediately pulling weapons out of their storage, and grabbing magazines. Fletcher sketched a hasty salute and headed for the truck.

"Anything else, Captain?" Gagnon asked.

"Not yet, sir." She paused. "Major, you're going to be outnumbered."

Gagnon smiled. "We're Delta. We're always outnumbered."

Bighorn-Vlata smiled back. "Well, sir, excuse me for asking, but…I doubt the White Fang brought antitank weapons with them." She nodded towards the 1st Armored Division patch on her shoulder.

His smile widened. "How soon can you be ready?"

"Get going, sir. You ever see an Abrams at full speed? We'll be along presently."

He slapped her shoulder. "Much obliged, Captain."

* * *

_Front Gate_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1423 Hours Local_

Airman Michael Naiseth waved down the approaching car. It came to a halt as more gunfire erupted in the distance. Naiseth ducked out of pure instinct as a strange forward-swept wing fighter roared overhead. He went up to the driver's side window. "Get back!" he shouted. "Base is closed, dumbass! We're under attack! Move your ass!"

The window rolled down and Cinder Fall stared back at him calmly. She was wearing her flight suit. "Airman, I am Major Fall. Let me onto the base. I need to get to my aircraft immediately."

The name sounded dimly familiar to the airman; there was something about Major Fall being wanted by the base commander. He looked behind him; the other three men at the gate were about to activate the heavy steel fence that would seal off the front gate. He glanced at the rank on her shoulder, then saluted. "Go on through, ma'am. Park as soon as you can and be careful. We've got reports of White Fang coming up the main drag. If you go down Neath Street, you might could work your way around to the dispersal. You have a weapon?"

She nodded. "In the glove compartment."

He waved her through. "Good luck, ma'am."

"Thank you, Airman." He held up a hand, and the guard getting ready to throw the switch waited as Cinder accelerated through the gate. The fence clanged shut behind her, and rubber squealed as she swung onto Neath Street. She found a parking spot behind the hospital, holstered the pistol she'd been hiding behind the driver's side door, got out, and knocked on the trunk, then opened it.

Mercury Black coughed and got out. He was holding a pump shotgun. "Can't believe you made me ride in the trunk."

"And if one of the guards had recognized you? You're supposed to be dead, remember?" She looked back towards the front gate, now out of sight behind another administration building. "Go find Emerald. If she's not at the VOQ, she's probably in the jail. Stay out of sight if you can."

Mercury hefted the shotgun. "You sure Emerald's that important?"

Cinder nodded. "We're not leaving her. She knows too much. Get her—and don't kill her, Mercury. We need friends right now, not more enemies."

"Okay. Where are you going?"

Cinder pulled out the pistol again, reached into a pocket, and withdrew a silencer. "I have a doctor's appointment."

* * *

_Regency 26 (E-3A AWACS)_

_Eberle Line Track 4, Near Clear Lake, Iowa, United States of Canada_

_1425 Local_

"Are we getting anything from Beacon?"

"Only that they're under heavy ground attack, sir! White Fang!"

"That can't be right."

"Beacon is now reporting being under air attack as well. Unknown aircraft."

"Cardin is still engaged with the Raptor—"

A1C Heather Cummings tried to ignore the uproar around her and concentrate on her sector scan. Her part was still western Minnesota; she wondered how she and the other controllers had missed two fighters. The F-22 made sense, but it was stealthy, and the intermittent radar return had made the crew of Regency 26 think it was Crow 13, still somewhere over southern Minnesota, whoever that was.

Cummings saw a blip come into view on the northwestern edge of the E-3's radar, roughly around what had been St. Cloud, Minnesota. "What the heck is that?" she murmured to herself. It was moving fairly fast, but the radar return was sketchy, as if it was something else that was stealthy. The E-3 was getting enough of a return to track it, but not enough to identify it.

Then she saw more blips appear. They sprang into existence in front of the first contact. Then more. She had to notify the senior controller, but seeing him busy for a moment, she took the initiative. "Crow 13, Regency 26, are you still out there?"

A gravelly voice replied. "Still here, Regency. I don't have my transponder on."

"We've picked up a new contact, bearing, ah, one six zero, speed approximately four hundred, angels…ten thousand. There's new contacts in front of it. We can't get a good fix on them—okay, now we've got jamming." That side of her radar went fuzzy. The E-3's radar would burn through the jamming, but it would take time. Jamming, however, definitely meant enemy. "Can you check it out?"

"Roger that. What was your raid count before the jamming?"

"Approximately eight to ten small bogeys, one intermittent larger one." She tried to pick out the blips in the snow of the jamming. "Crow 13, I think they're GRIMM." She didn't know about the large one, but the smaller ones' profile looked like Beowolves. Heads turned in the E-3 as she said the dreaded word.

"On my way."

* * *

_Crow 13_

_Near the Ruins of Eden Prairie, Minnesota, United States of Canada_

_1430 Local_

Qrow Branwen headed northwest as fast as he could. His evasion of the Patriot had left him nearly back to former Rochester, and he'd been giving the Mississippi River Barrier a wide berth. As soon as he heard the call that Beacon was under attack, he'd begun to head east, but then the call from Regency came in. Qrow hated to turn around, but if it was GRIMM, that was a bigger threat than whatever Beacon was facing.

He climbed as he headed for the contact. GRIMM radar systems were not all that great, and the stealthy F-117 would hide him. Probably, Qrow mused. He went through a bank of clouds, leveled off at twenty thousand feet, and dipped the pointed nose of the Nighthawk down; visibility out of the F-117 was not the best.

When he saw it, Qrow blinked. He opened his visor and rubbed his eyes. It was still there. His modified Nighthawk did have a radar, but he didn't dare switch it on and announce his presence to every GRIMM within fifty miles—and there would be a lot of GRIMM to announce it to. Qrow relied on his eyesight, but he couldn't believe his eyes.

It was, quite simply, the biggest GRIMM he had ever seen. It was at least five hundred feet long, with a wingspan of probably four hundred feet: a wide delta, like a Nevermore, but far larger than even that. In front of it, like pilot fish around a shark, were a dozen Beowolves.

_How did…where the hell did that come from? _Qrow thought. _We would've detected something that big being built in the Dead Zones. Unless…oh fuck. Unless that came from Salem herself._ There was scattered intelligence, nothing solid, that Salem's lair, if it existed, was somewhere in Siberia, in the rubble of what had been the Soviet Union. _It could've come from there, though it would've been launched over a day ago. We would've detected it over the Cascadia Barrier, though, we would've—_

Then he remembered the report of the sinking of the USS _Cushing._

As Qrow watched, two more Beowolves appeared, and with growing horror, he realized he was looking at an airborne aircraft carrier. He thumbed the radio button, hoping the damned thing wouldn't detect him. "Regency 26, Crow 13. I've got your bandits, including the big one."

"Roger, Crow 13. Understand bandits." That meant he was sure they were enemy, and Qrow had never been more sure in his life. "What is it?"

"Raid count is 14 Beowolves, and…some big son of a bitch. Regency, I've never seen anything like this." He read off the dimensions. "Be advised, I am _not_ drunk," he added.

The controller's voice was silent. "Understood, Crow 13. Uh…can you intercept?"

"Not a chance, Regency. I wouldn't do anything more than piss that thing off."

"What would you classify it as, Crow 13?"

Qrow hesitated, searching for a good codename. "Regency, classify new aircraft as Wyvern." It sounded good to him, though wyverns were supposed to be small dragons, not this monster. He couldn't think of anything else.

"Course and heading?" Regency asked.

Qrow licked suddenly dry lips. "Beacon. It's headed for Beacon."


	25. The Fire Rises

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Whew! This chapter almost beat me. Ground combat is much harder to write than air combat. Just with everything going on in the world, I really thought I was going to have to take a break for a week, but I took a day to recharge, and I think it helped._

_Incidentally, Ironwood and Octavia Ember's exchange roughly translates to "I'm a friend" and "I sure hope so," at least according to Google Translate._

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1435 Local_

"Brace the door with something!" Yang yelled.

"No!" Blake shouted. "Don't. Let the White Fang come in."

Yang stared at Blake, who saw the accusation in her friend's eyes. "We brace the door, they'll use grenades. We need their rifles." She motioned to Ruby, who had the air policeman's pistol. "Ruby, give me that and get on the landing. I'll hold the door. Velvet, can we move the airman there?"

Velvet tightened Blake's ribbon around the wounded air policeman's shoulder. "Yes."

"Move him upstairs to Ruby Flight's room. Yang, Weiss, Nora, get up on the landing with Ruby. When the White Fang come in, they'll only see me. I'm Faunus. They'll hesitate."

"You'd better be right," Yang told her, and followed the others onto the landing. Nora pulled the fire extinguisher off the wall. Weiss considered running back to the dorm room to get her ceremonial dress sword, but decided there wasn't time.

She was right. Though the fire from the hedgerow was slowing the White Fang down, forcing them to dash from cover to cover, they reached the FOQ, their first objective. Octavia knelt, fired off a three-round burst towards the hedgerow, and kicked open the main door. She dashed inside, went to the right towards the stairwell, and found herself nearly face to face with Blake. "Blake?" she asked. "Blake Belladonna?" She began to smile, remembering Blake from their days in the White Fang together. "We're supposed to take you—"

Blake did not hesitate. Her knife was in her right hand, and she stabbed upwards, the blade entering just below Octavia's left breast, into her heart. She died with a quizzical look on her face. As she fell, Blake let the knife fall with her, drew the pistol, and fired four times. Two White Fang soldiers went down on the steps before the rest realized they were under fire from the FOQ. She fell back to the landing, dragging Octavia's carbine with her. With only a second to spare, she tossed the M4 to the first person she saw, which happened to be Ruby.

The door was too small for more than three White Fang to come in at once, but three of them tried. Blake shot one of them in the chest, but Ruby killed the other two with shots to the head. Blake turned to her in surprise. "Ruby, what—"

"Marksmanship award in high school," Yang said. "Dad taught us how to hunt." She moved past both of them. "Cover me. I'm going after their hardware."

"I'll go with!" Nora hefted the fire extinguisher. They jumped down a half-flight of stairs and reached the bodies, just as two more White Fang burst through the door. Nora let fly with the fire extinguisher, filling the entranceway with foam, and the Faunus fell back. She threw the extinguished at them as Yang gathered up three of the M4s and dashed back up the landing. She handed out the weapons to Weiss and Nora; Blake holstered the pistol and took one for herself. "Now what?" Yang asked. "You're the Marine; you've trained for this ground shit."

"Back up the stairs," Blake ordered. "We'll hold the second floor landing. There's no one on the first floor; Auburn and Indigo were out on the flightline earlier. That's a narrow stairwell."

"Why not stay here?" Ruby said, her eyes still on the door.

"Because next time they'll use grenades. Move."

* * *

In the hedgerow, Jaune, Pyrrha, Ren, Fox Alasdair and the two Security Force men continued to hold. They were limiting themselves to the occasional sniping shot, just to keep the White Fang under cover; they didn't have an unlimited amount of ammunition.

"Pyrrha, look," Jaune pointed through the hedges.

"Damn," she breathed. She tugged on the sleeve of one of the SF. "Sergeant, they're flanking us to the right."

"Or they're going for the VOQ. Is anyone in there?" the sergeant replied. Then he remembered. "Oh, shit. The general." He stood, but Pyrrha pulled him back down as a bullet went through the spot he had been in. "Don't. You'll never make it."

"And you don't have to, man!" The other SF policeman pointed behind them. "Hot damn, here comes the cavalry!"

Two HMMWVs were rolling down Arryn Avenue. The rearmost one was unarmed, but the one in front had a .50 caliber heavy machinegun atop it. They hadn't seen any heavy weapons among the White Fang; a .50 would be a game changer.

* * *

Sienna Khan fought down frustration. Beacon's personnel had reacted much faster than she'd thought, and already seven of her people were down. She'd sent four of her soldiers to the Visiting Officers' Quarters, where Cinder had informed them Ironwood was. Killing General James Ironwood would be an achievement in and of itself.

"High Leader!" one of her soldiers shouted. "Enemy vehicles, front!"

"Oh shit!" someone else yelled. "They've got a fifty on that one!"

"Calm down and give me the RPG." Sienna deliberately kept her voice calm. She was handed the antitank weapon. "Cover me. Spray that hedgerow." Two of them did, and Sienna dashed forward, raising the tube. She centered the sight and fired. The rocket-propelled grenade made a chuffing noise as it shot forward; a second later it hit the HMMWV in the grill, just as the gunner began tracking on her. The vehicle's hood blew off, and it skidded off the road into the side of the Bachelors' Officers Quarters. The crew abandoned it as flames began to spread. Bullets skipping at her heels, she went back to her cover behind the trees in front of the FOQ.  
"How many RPG rounds do we have left?" she asked.

"Just two, High Leader," a soldier replied. "We brought three Javelins…"

"But those are with Ilia and Yuma." Sienna smiled. "Well, I doubt we'll be running into tanks."

The other HMMWV had stopped, out of range, and troops began to pile out of it. They dived into the ditches to either side of the avenue as Moonslice suddenly roared down the street, twenty millimeter shells tearing apart the HMMWV and killing two men. Adam broke off and flew overhead. Sienna watched the fighter climb into the clouds, then glanced behind her, at the dispersal far in the distance. There were no smoke clouds rising from it. She snapped her fingers at her radioman. "Ask Ilia what she's doing. She's supposed to be destroying those fighters by now."

* * *

Ilia Amitola and her team had taken cover behind the equipment building, and she checked her watch for the fifth time. "Ilia," a deer Faunus asked her, "what are we waiting for?"

"I'm making sure it's clear. You see how the revetments are placed? It's so no more than two aircraft can get strafed or bombed at a time, but it's also a great place to hide!" Ilia flung a hand towards the dispersal. "There could be a hundred troops in there, and we're only ten!"

"But we have to do something!" the Faunus exclaimed, almost pleading.

Ilia bit back what she wanted to say, which was to shut up. The problem was, he was right: there was no real reason to wait. There was no movement in there since the F-15 and the F-14 had taken off, and they were already on the taxiway. Yuma's team was surely in position. She briefly considered just shooting her own team, but she'd never get them all before they got her. And her cover as the CIA's Source Camo had to be preserved; she knew Arashikaze would sacrifice Beacon to maintain that cover, if it came to that, and Ilia had already taken a very risky chance by sparing Sergeant Hofer. She was going to have to attack.

"What the hell is he _doing?"_ another White Fang trooper asked, and Ilia ducked around.

It was Roman Torchwick. He was running for all he was worth down the taxiway, waving his arms and shouting. "God _damn_ him," Ilia snarled, but in her mind, she was thanking God for Torchwick. Now they would have to wait to see what happened, and that took time.

* * *

Roman Torchwick had grown up on the streets before he'd made it big, working his way up from shoplifting and petty thievery to grand theft auto and building his own gang. One of the skills he'd learned was the art of making people believe what they wanted to see. Amateurs, Roman had noted, always thought someone could see through their disguise. Professionals knew that no one usually even looked.

He was wearing a flight suit stolen from Hector, so it was standard USAF issue; he was also wearing a stolen helmet, without any markings. It covered his orange hair, and he doubted anyone in the dispersal area would recognize Roman Torchwick—and he wasn't going to give them a chance to.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" he screamed, sprinting down the taxiway. He was soon passing aircraft, and huddled around them were mechanics, crew chiefs and technicians. None were armed, other than with various tools and blunt implements. A bearded black sergeant dashed out from one of the revetments and pulled him into it. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at Torchwick. "Sir," he added, seeing the captain's bars sewn onto the shoulders of the flight suit.

"There's White Fang all over the damn base!" Torchwick yelled. "I managed to get around them, but there's about twenty of the bastards over there!" He pointed right at Ilia's group, behind the equipment building. "You guys got any guns?"

"We're working on it. You a pilot?" Other than the rank, there were no identifying marks on the flight suit.

"Yes, Chief…Vogelmord." Luckily, Roman recognized the rank. Looking past the sergeant, he saw the red-trimmed F-16 of Ruby Rose, its nose festooned with kill marks. Roman wished he'd brought a grenade to throw down the intake, but the rather large wrench that Vogelmord held would've talked him out of it anyway. "You got any spare aircraft? I can get one up, and at least get that fucker off your ass." Roman pointed to the F-16. "I don't suppose you can let me borrow that one." It would be the ultimate in revenge if he could take Little Red's own aircraft, Roman mused.

"No, sir. What are you rated for? Hell, who _are_ you?" Vogelmord asked.

"Major Gray Haddock. I just came in this morning. I was on the Paladin Project…" Roman let his voice trail off, and shook his head. "Poor Penny." Then he spotted an aircraft that was almost just as good as stealing Ruby's. "Listen," he told Vogelmord. "I was in the Aggressors at Hill. I can fly the shit out of one of those." He motioned at the desert-camouflaged F-5E that sat kittycorner from the F-16's revetment, wearing the split roundel of the Royal Jordanian Air Force. "Come on, man! We don't have time!"

"Yeah, okay. Go for it, sir." Torchwick threw the chief a salute and dashed over to the F-5. Vogelmord shouted after him. "Hey, is Lieutenant Ember here?"

"Nah, Chief!" one of the mechanics around the F-5 shouted back. "The rest of Indigo Flight is here, but she isn't!"

"I'll take it." Roman didn't wait for the mechanic's approval, but bounded up the ladder into the cockpit. As he settled into it, it was like shaking hands with an old friend. He took a moment to run his fingers over the stick and throttle. The mechanic came up after him. "Sir," he said, "got an oxygen mask and everything, but no G-suit or survival vest."

"Don't need it," Roman answered. "We'll do this old school." The mechanic helped him strap in, then dropped down, pulled away the ladder, and moved aside. Roman ran through a hasty preflight, gave the signal to pull the chocks, and began to taxi out, throwing a thumbs-up to the ground crew, actually feeling a little sorry for them. He then reached over and switched the formation lights on the F-5 on, setting them to strobe.

* * *

Adam Taurus made another circuit of Beacon, throttling back. He was getting frustrated. He'd held off from strafing the dispersal, partially because his guns weren't calibrated for air-to-ground, partially because he didn't want to strafe Ilia's team by accident. And partially because he wanted the White Fang assault to fail, at least partially, so Blake would get in her F-14 and he could challenge her. He knew it was insane, but deep down, Adam wanted to prove that he was still the better pilot. He was going to bring Blake back into the fold, back to his side, but before he did that, he needed to break her.

He spotted the F-5 taxiing out, and watched it for a moment. After he'd shot down the F-15 and Ilia's team had positioned itself, no one else had tried to take off; the F-14 had not hung around to dogfight him, but had headed west. This was a brave soul, Adam mused, but he or she was going to die all the same, either from Ilia's team using their Javelins on it, or when it would be easy prey when it took off.

Then he saw the formation lights begin strobing. Adam could not help but smile. "Roman Torchwick," he said, "you crazy son of a bitch." He toggled the radio switch. "Neo from Adam. Your boyfriend's back."

* * *

One of Ilia's team raised the Javelin, but Ilia saw the lights come on. "I don't believe it," she said. "Roman just stole a F-5. He really _is_ a thief."

He taxiied past them, giving them a quick salute, then went out on the runway, closed the canopy, and took off. The White Fang threw up a cheer. Ilia shook her head at the air pirate's temerity, but she also knew she no longer had an excuse.

"He's out of the way," she said, barely keeping the sadness out of her voice. "Let's go."

* * *

Voglemord watched the White Fang dash out from behind cover. Chief Darren Yorse had run over to him. "Arnold," Yorse sighed, "I think we've been had."

"The fucker was White Fang? He just…oh shit." Vogelmord remembered. "Roman Torchwick. That bastard had to be Roman Torchwick."

"And he just stole a fighter right out from under our nose. And these bastards are going to torch the rest of them." He waved a wrench. "Here the bastards come! Gentlemen, prepare to defend yourselves!" Yorse laughed ironically. "Always wanted to say that—"

He was cut off by the whine of an engine being run up. Both men turned to see the F-8 Crusader of Nebula Violette taxiing out of her hardstand. She swung the nose around onto the taxiway, stopped, and then the aircraft knelt: Nebula lowered the nose wheel, as she would if she was about to be hooked to a catapult for launch from a carrier. It also brought her four twenty millimeter cannon directly in line with Ilia's team. Nebula pulled the trigger, and the shells pounded down the taxiway. The White Fang scattered; one Faunus was hit and simply disintegrated.

The mechanics and crew chiefs cheered as Nebula kept moving down the taxiway; because it caused the F-8 to rear up on its main landing gear, her shells were now passing harmlessly over the White Fang and landing around the equipment building, so she ceased fire and stopped.

"Brave move," Adam remarked. "I'm almost sorry to do this." He rolled in. Though his guns were not really suited for strafing, the F-8 made a big target. He dived Moonslice to 200 feet, and opened fire. His shells tore into the Crusader, setting it afire.

Nebula knew she was hit as she felt the F-8 shudder. She also knew that, as her aircraft carried a full load of fuel and ammunition, she stood a good chance of blocking the main taxiway. Nebula moved the throttle forward, cleared the revetments, then taxied into the ditch. The F-8 ended up nose down, which meant she could not safely eject, so she unstrapped, and jumped out. She ran, praying the White Fang weren't anywhere near her.

The F-8 exploded. The revetments saved the nearest aircraft from fragments and blast, and the White Fang were under cover. Nebula was in the open. The blast knocked her down, and flames ignited her hair. She struggled to her feet, screaming as she tried to run. Both sides watched in horror, and then one of the White Fang—the deer Faunus—dashed out of cover, grabbed her, pulled off his jerkin, and wrapped it around her head. He half-dragged her out of danger, back to the ditch Ilia's team was sheltering in.

"What are you doing? She's human!" one of the White Fang shouted.

"I'm not going to watch someone burn to death, human or not!" the Faunus screamed back. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

* * *

Pyrrha saw the black smoke rolling up from the hardstands. Their ersatz team had been reinforced by more SF men. Right now it was a stalemate. Neither side could move forward. Pyrrha, as the ranking person, was in command, but she had no experience in ground combat. Still, she had to do something. "Sergeant," she addressed the man next to her, "take three men and go around to the right. Let's see if we can flank them."

"Pyrrha," Jaune said, "four of them just went into the FOQ. Can we get over there?"

She looked to the sergeant, who shook his head. It would require a dash across open ground. Pyrrha felt sick. Nora was in there; so was Ruby Flight. They'd heard shots already, though someone in there had a weapon, since there were dead White Fang in front of the FOQ's entrance. But they were on their own, and Pyrrha had to write them off.

None of them had noticed that one White Fang soldier had worked his way through the bushes of the park, crawling close to the hedge. He pulled the pin out of a grenade, and threw it over the hedgerow. It landed between Pyrrha and Fox. "_Grenade!"_ Fox shouted, and grabbed it. He flung it backwards behind a tree before it exploded. Most of the fragments were absorbed in the tree, but others went into the people behind the hedge. Fox fell back, hands clapped to his face, and one of the security police went down, clutching his leg.

With a howl, the White Fang leapt over the hedge, knife raised. Ren jammed his pistol into his stomach and fired twice. The charge ended as soon as it had stopped as the White Fang fell back screaming behind the hedge.

Fox was screaming as well. "_Ah God! I can't see! I can't see!"_ One of the SF men called for a medic.

With a ruthlessness he didn't know he had, Jaune leaned over the hedge and shot the White Fang soldier in the head, ceasing his cries of agony. He dropped back as a bullet chopped into the hedge. "Pyrrha. You're hit."

"Um?" She looked down and saw a hole in the ankle of her boot. She could feel pain winding up her leg, but it was tolerable. "It's all right. I'll look at it later." She stole a glance over the hedge. "We've got to break this somehow."

* * *

_Building 111415 (Visiting Officer's Quarters)_

_1445 Hours Local_

When Ironwood heard the explosions, he'd looked out of the window of the corner room he had. He'd taken his M1911 out of his suitcase, loaded it, and checked out the window again. There were four White Fang soldiers headed his way; if he went out any door of the VOQ, he'd be in the open, and very dead. There was no doubt they were coming for him, and anyone else in the building. As far as he knew, there wasn't anyone else in the VOQ but him at the moment.

Ironwood acted quickly. He went into the bathroom, opened the taps in the shower wide, and pulled the curtain closed, and shut the door behind him. He then opened the window and dived behind the bed.

He could hear the White Fang enter the building. They went from room to room, and occasionally he heard the _whump_ of grenades—flashbangs, he deduced by the noise. This group was professional. He heard only occasional shots; they were also husbanding their ammunition.

Then he heard them outside his door. The door was kicked open. Ironwood stayed down, closing his eyes and opening his mouth. The concussion from the flashbang was still enough to drive the breath from his lungs and cause his hearing to be replaced by a ringing noise. He peeked over the top of the bed to see two White Fang soldiers; one kicked in the door to the bathroom. Ironwood propped himself over the bed, leveled the pistol, and fired. The bullets caught the second man through the door in the chest and threw him backwards. The first man turned and fired a burst with his carbine, tearing up the bed while Ironwood dropped down behind it, rolled to the left, and came up firing. This time his shots hit the White Fang in the shoulder, spinning him around into the bathroom.

The third wasn't going to go through the door. A grenade sailed into the room. Ironwood dashed forward, scooped it up, and threw it back into the hallway. It exploded, and he heard screams. He dropped behind the closet wall and waited, but the screams gradually died away to groans. Then he heard more shots—pistol fire this time, and the groans stopped.

_Someone else?_ he wondered. So far the White Fang hadn't been using pistols. "Anyone friendly out there?"

"Yes! Who's there?"

Ironwood thought he placed the accent. "_'Iinaa sadiq!"_

There was a pause. "_'Atamanaa dhlk bialtaakid."_ Ironwood stepped halfway out of cover. Hopefully these White Fang didn't speak Arabic.

A brown haired woman in casual clothes stepped into the entrance, a nine millimeter pistol in her hands. "General Ironwood?" she asked.

"Octavia Ember, correct?" He smiled. "Good to see a friendly face."

She was about to step into the room, but he held up a hand. He took two cautious steps forward, and looked into the bathroom. The White Fang he'd wounded lay in a puddle of blood and water, against the toilet. He reached for the carbine with his good hand. Ironwood did not give him a chance and shot him twice. He then reached down, grabbed the carbine and extra magazines from the White Fang's belt, and holstered the .45.

Ember watched him and did the same with the corpse in the doorway. As Ironwood stepped out into the hallway and over the body of the first man he'd killed, the other two lay in a heap. Both had been badly wounded by the grenade; Ember had merely finished them off. He gathered up their weapons away, along with a flashbang and two grenades. "I'm sorry, General," Ember said as he did so. "Sorry I wasn't here sooner."

"You're here now," Ironwood replied. "Glad they didn't find you." His room had been among the last the White Fang team had searched.

"Well, sir…I confess I was hiding under my bed."

Ironwood, despite the situation, laughed. "Well, Lieutenant, let's go join the battle, shall we?"

* * *

_Task Force Gagnon_

_Near Oakdale, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1450 Hours Local_

Major Jacob Gagnon grinned as he looked into the rearview mirror. Coming up in the passing lane were three M1A1 Abrams, pieces of asphalt flying from the tracks; Interstate 94 was not really reinforced with 60-ton main battle tanks in mind. Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata was as good as her word—better, because she'd brought three tanks rather than two.

"Major? Problem." Sergeant Fletcher, who had taken over driving duties on the deuce and a half truck that was carrying 2 Troop, pointed ahead as he began slowing down. _"Tabarnak!"_ Gagnon cursed. There were dozens of cars halted in front of them. As the truck stopped, Gagnon swung out of the passenger door, even as he heard the tanks rumble to a stop as well. He ran forward to a Wisconsin Highway Patrol car. The patrolman saw him, came to attention, and saluted, despite the fact that the WHP wasn't exactly in Gagnon's chain of command. "What's going on?" Gagnon said, returning the salute.

"Are you guys headed for Beacon?" The WHP thumbed towards the base, only eight miles away. Smoke was rolling up in the distance. "Sorry, sir. We've got a massive traffic jam. Both lanes. We've stopped traffic until we figure out what the hell is going on. I can reroute you around it—Highway 12 is still clear."

"Major Gagnon!" Bighorn-Vlata was waving for his attention. He crossed over to where the tank was parked, the main gun distressingly close to another WHP patrol car; the patrolmen were looking nervously at the tank. "We have to get around this shit. I'm going to take my tanks across country, break through to the north."

"We'll head for the main gate. Get moving, then!" He looked at the tanks. Gagnon wished he could load some of his men onto them, but the gas turbine of the Abrams put out a lot of heat; it would not be like in World War II, where they could ride into combat on the rear deck of the tank. "Fletcher! Boucher! Wilburn! Get aboard the tanks! Take up the loader position!" It was better than nothing. "Take the Stinger!" Gagnon looked up, and saw a F-5 and something with forward swept wings orbiting above them.

"We've only got one shot for the Stinger!" Private Wilburn yelled back.

"Those bastards don't know that! Move your ass!" He nodded to Bighorn-Vlata, who dropped back down into her commander's position, her hands on the .50 caliber machine gun. That could do a great deal of damage as well. As his men pulled themselves onto the tanks, Gagnon turned to the patrolman. "Lead on."

Above them, Adam dipped a wing and saw the tanks on the road, then checked the round counter in the HUD for his cannon. He didn't have much left, and he didn't want to be flying around with empty guns. He still had his missiles, but few fighter pilots only wanted to be dependent on that. He toggled his radio switch. "Fang Six, this is Adam," he sent out.

"Fang Six." It was not Sienna, but her radioman; Adam could hear automatic weapons fire in the background.

"Tell Sienna to move her ass. You've got three tanks about eight miles away, and Roman and I don't have a thing to stop them."

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_1455 Local_

"Tanks?" Sienna asked her radioman. "Is he sure?" Her radioman raised the mouthpiece of the radio to his mouth, but Sienna motioned for the radio. "Adam, Fang Six Actual. Are you sure about the tanks?"

"Fang Six, I am looking down at three M1 Abrams main battle tanks, which are now leaving the highway and going across the field. At the speed they're progressing, you're going to have them in your laps in about ten minutes or less."

"Strafe them!" Sienna ordered.

"Negative. Our twenty millimeters won't get through that armor, and those tanks have machine guns. I am not getting down into their kill zone, and neither is Roman if he has any sense."

Sienna looked around her. She'd already taken heavy casualties, and though Ilia's teams still had their Javelins, she didn't like her chances against tanks. There was an explosion behind her, from the dispersal. They'd already done quite a bit of damage, and with any luck, they could do more before they finally had to disperse into the woods and exfiltrate the base. The plan had never been to take Beacon in any case, but to delay their reaction. She hoped Cinder had succeeded in her part of the plan, at least.

"Adam, Fang Six. Maintain position. We'll fall back to Yuma's team and keep the runway closed. What's your state?"

"I've got about another thirty minutes before bingo."

"Understood. Fang Six out." Sienna handed back the mike to the radioman. Adam had around another thirty minutes of fuel before he had to leave the area. Neo and Roman would have more. The plan was still working, just not as well as she'd like. "Give the order to fall back to Yuma," she told the radioman. Then she reached into her pocket, pulled out a whistle, and gave three blasts on it.

* * *

Ilia watched as the F-16 in the first revetment burned, then exploded again as one of the missiles touched off. She could delay no longer.

"Team Bravo from Fang Six." Ilia reached up and touched the headset pickup. "Fall back to rally point. Repeat, fall back to rally point. Be advised, armor coming from the north."

"Team Bravo, acknowledged," she radioed back. Ilia reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the trooper with the Javelin on her shoulder, a burly cougar Faunus. "Hold your fire. We've got tanks headed for us. We need to hold on to what we've got left."

"But the enemy aircraft—" she began to protest.

"Let the others handle them!" Ilia snapped. "Those six Javelin rounds are all we have against tanks! Unless you want to try taking them on hand to hand!" The Faunus nodded and hefted the Javelin. Ilia ordered her team to fall back. The deer Faunus knelt over the female pilot. "Is she still alive?" Ilia asked.

"Yeah. Pretty badly burned on her head and neck. She passed out, thank God." He shook his head. "I know she's a human, but…"

"We don't have to be monsters, Royce. Let's go." Ilia's team began to fall back.


	26. A View to a Kill

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: In this chapter, things get worse._

* * *

_Building 13016 (Base Hospital)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1430 Hours Local_

Cinder Fall walked through the hospital. It was chaos. The staff was preparing operating rooms and triage rooms for combat casualties. Other staff were blocking some of the exits, while security police secured the entrance, expecting that the White Fang would attack the hospital as well. Medical facilities were off-limits under every convention of war ever signed, but Sienna Khan didn't much care for treaties.

No one paid her any mind. Cinder walked to Dr. Thomas' office, the chief medical officer of the base, and one of the few she knew had access to Amber Tardor. She wondered if she would have to hunt him down, but he was in his office, typing away on his computer, standing over his desk. "Dr. Thomas?" Cinder asked.

Thomas looked up. "Major Fall?" He had not heard about the arrest order on her. "I'm sorry to sound like an asshole, Major, but we're pretty busy here. The other pilots are trapped in the dorms, last I heard."

"Yes, I heard that as well." Cinder was hoping the pilots would get massacred in their dorms; it would make her job much easier. "Doctor, I need to see you, immediately."

"Major, unless you have arterial bleeding, I'm just too busy at the moment."

"I insist, Doctor." He looked up. Cinder was holding a silenced pistol. It was aimed at his chest, and hidden from the outside by her body. "Don't yell for help. I'd much rather keep you alive, Doctor."

"What are you talking about?" Thomas asked.

"Take me to Amber Tardor. Now."

"Why?"

Cinder glared at him. "Doctor, you're wasting time. Either take me to Amber, or prepare to end up on one of your own operating tables." She motioned with her head towards the door.

Thomas thought about rushing her. There was a letter opener on the desk. He glanced at it, then at the pistol. Her grip on it was steady, and her eyes were pitiless. Thomas sighed and moved past her, and she fell in behind, putting the pistol into her coat pocket. Someone who was looking would notice the weapon, but Cinder was betting no one would notice.

She was right. They began bringing in the first casualties. Thomas looked back at her, concern on his face, but she gave a minute shake of her head. The doctor gave an excuse to one of the nurses, saying he would be in the OR in a moment, and led Cinder into the deserted wing of the hospital. It was much quieter here, though the hospital shook with an explosion. Thomas once more looked at her, but Cinder just smiled. "Don't worry, Doctor. I'll let you go in a minute."

"What are you going to do with Amber?" he asked.

"Just talk to her."

Thomas opened the door to the empty room, and moved towards the robes, gloves and boots. "No need for that," Cinder said. "You won't be going to Amber."

"You need to put those on," Thomas told her. "Amber's…not well. Any infection could kill her."

Cinder grabbed the protective gear, but draped it over her arm. She pulled the pistol out and motioned towards the door. Thomas opened the next door, then crossed to the closet door and ran his hands over the fingerprint scanner. The door clicked open, and Thomas entered the closet. He reached under his smock and pulled out his badge, then swiped it through the reader. "The elevator will take you down to her. Please get covered up before you do."

"Of course, Doctor. Thank you. You should go help your patients. I imagine you'll have casualties. I'll ask you not to call security? They're going to be quite busy with the White Fang." She thumbed behind her. "Get going."

Thomas nodded, and walked towards the door. As he opened it, Cinder raised the pistol and shot him through the back of the head. She kicked the door shut, and stripped the doctor of his smock, avoiding as much of the gore as she could. Cinder then threw the protective gear over the body, entered the closet, and found the buttons to take her down.

* * *

_Base Headquarters_

_1440 Hours Local_

Ozpin looked out over the flightline. He could see people moving there, wearing the jerkins of the White Fang, and he could do nothing. He'd never felt so helpless in his life—with one exception. There was nothing he could do: the battle was in the hands of his security police, Ironwood's troops, and the pilots. Glynda was pacing, angry; he knew that some of that anger was aimed at him. Her F-22 was sitting on the transient tarmac, but with the White Fang between her and the Raptor, it might as well have been on the moon. He knew she wanted him to let her go, wanted him to have let her go ten minutes ago, though likely the White Fang would have killed her before she got close to her aircraft.

The phone rang. Ozpin instantly picked it up. "Ozpin."

"Sir, this is the tower—"

"Are you all right?"

"So far, so good, sir. They haven't come after us, at least not yet." Ozpin breathed a sigh of relief about that. The tower was isolated now, on the opposite side of the runways from base headquarters, but from his office, he could see no White Fang troops there. However, it wouldn't take much to destroy the tower, which would cripple Beacon's ability to coordinate its aircraft. "But sir, we got bigger problems than the White Fang."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir. Regency is tracking GRIMM, Captain—and they're tracking something huge. It's about five hundred feet long, four hundred wide, according to Crow 13." _Qrow,_ Ozpin thought. Qrow Branwen might be prone to drinking, but he was not prone to exaggeration. "He's codenamed it a Wyvern. It's nothing like we've ever seen. Regency vectored Funky Two towards it, and Cardinal Lead has managed to lose his bandit and is headed that way as well. Besides the Wyvern, we're also tracking at least two dozen smaller GRIMM, probably Beowolves and Ursai."

Ozpin sat down in his chair, his grip tightening on the phone. "Very well," he said after a few moments. "If we can get the pilots to their aircraft, we'll get them in the air. What about the enemy aircraft?"

"So far we've identified only two, sir. Cardinal reports being engaged by a red F-22, while we've been buzzed by that forward-swept wing aircraft. No others so far, but the F-22 shot down Cardinal Two, and—"

"And Funky Lead got shot down by the other aircraft." Ozpin had seen that, though at least Flynt Coal had gotten out.

"Yes, sir. What would you like us to do, sir?" the senior controller asked. There was just the hint of panic in his voice.

"Hold your position, and block the entrance to the tower. We'll be through to you as soon as possible. Keep me in the loop. Ozpin out." He hung up the phone.

"What's going on?" Glynda asked.

"It's as we feared. This is a coordinated attack. There's GRIMM coming—the biggest one I've ever heard of."

"How did it get through—" Glynda went pale. "The Cascadia Barrier. When that destroyer was sunk, it left a gap. And without the SAM barrier…"

"I'm not sure even that can stop it, assuming we can reactivate the barrier. Especially if we can't get the pilots to their planes." Ozpin stared at the phone. He put his hand on it, hesitated, and looked at Glynda. "I think we have to use the Maiden, Glynda."

"If we can't get to the aircraft…" she began.

"This Wyvern could destroy Beacon. Or worse, bypass us and head for Chicago." He picked up the phone and stabbed the buttons. He waited a moment, then spoke into the receiver. "This is Captain Ozpin at Beacon. This is a Code Azrael. I need to speak with the President."

* * *

_Base Hospital_

_1445 Hours Local_

Cinder walked into Amber's room. Here, it was very quiet other than the beeping and whirring of machines. She got close to the plastic, and even Cinder was taken aback at the damaged body of Amber—and she had inflicted most of that damage herself when she'd shot Amber down. Then she steeled herself: she couldn't afford to show pity. Cinder reached under the smock, into her jacket, and withdrew a small case. Opening it, she pulled out a syringe. _Hope I remember how to use this. Merlot only had a chance to show me once._ She began hooking up the syringe to Amber's IV.

"Hey there." Cinder nearly jumped at the voice. Amber was stirring weakly in her bed. "You…must be new."

"Y-Yes," Cinder said, recovering. "I'm Doctor Autumn." It wasn't exactly the best cover name, but the first thing that came to mind.

"Doctor Autumn," Amber breathed. "Funny…my last name…means something like…something like that." She motioned with her remaining arm. "What's that?"

"It's not going to make you better," Cinder admitted, "but it is going to make you feel pretty good. It's a new kind of painkiller." In actuality, it was something called SP-117, a derivative of, and far more potent than sodium thiopental, the so-called truth serum. Cinder wasn't entirely lying: SP-117 was going to make Amber very happy. It would also make her very talkative.

Amber's eyes widened and dilated as the drug hit her. "Oh. Oh, _wow._" She smiled. "Oh, hell yes. That's…that's good shit."

Cinder nodded. "I thought you'd like that." She reached through the plastic with one of the gloves, and took Amber's hand. "Are you my friend, Amber?"

Amber giggled, high-pitched and happy. "Right now…I'm _everyone's_ friend." She squirmed in the bed. "Man. Wooo-eee!"

Cinder patted her hand and smiled.

* * *

_Building 91213 (Female Officers' Quarters)_

_1500 Local_

There had been silence below for at least five minutes. Ruby Flight still had their captured carbines leveled at the doorway to the stairs. "One of us should go check," Weiss whispered, not really sure why she was whispering. It seemed like the thing to do.

"I'll go." Yang got to her feet, crept forward, and eased open the door. She heard someone coming in through the front. "Hello!" a voice called. It sounded familiar, but in the acoustics of the hallway, Yang wasn't sure. "Anyone here?"

Yang put her butt against the door to keep it open, and raised the M4. "Who goes there?"

"Yang? It's Ren!"

Nora, who had armed herself with another fire extinguisher, ran forward to join Yang. "Ren?"

"Nora? Are you okay? I'm coming up!"

"Hold your ass!" Yang yelled. "How do we know it's you, Ren?" Nora looked at Yang like the latter had lost her mind.

"I'm Lie Ren, Captain, Chinese Unified Air Force, serial number 311-549-3318."

"You could've gotten that off a dogtag, you White Fang motherfu—"

"Ren!" Nora called out. "What shape is the birthmark on my butt?"

There was silence. "You don't have a birthmark on your butt."

Nora eased down Yang's weapon. "It's Ren."

Yang brought up the barrel anyway as they heard footsteps on the stairs. A hand came out and waved, then Ren stepped into view. Yang relaxed. "It's Ren, guys!" she yelled back at the others. "Sure is good to see you."

Nora took the stairs three at a time and smothered her lover in a hug. Jaune came up the stairs next. "Glad to see you," he said to Yang.

Yang came down the stairs, hugged Jaune, and kissed him on the cheek. "Same same. What happened to the White Fang?"

"They're apparently pulling out. Ironwood took command of the Security Forces, and they're trailing them." He pried Yang off of him. "Anybody hurt?"

"One of the cops got hit. Nothing too bad. Any of our people?"

Jaune looked grim, especially as Ruby Flight and Velvet came into sight. "Velvet, Fox got hurt bad. Grenade went off right as he threw it. He saved us, but…he's blinded." Velvet's hands went to her mouth. "Pyrrha got hit; just a nick. There's been some explosions on the flightline. There's at least one White Fang fighter up there, maybe two."

Blake walked down the stairs. "Can we get to the planes?"

"There's a hell of a fire going in the dispersal. No one's tried yet."

"Then we will." Blake turned to the rest of them. "Anyone who isn't armed, grab some hardware! We're going to make a run to the aircraft! We've got to get them in the air before the fire spreads, or more White Fang fighters show up!" No one asked why Blake was suddenly in command, but they began to move down the stairs as well. Ruby and Yang went back and helped the wounded air policeman to his feet. Blake waited until they came back. Yang stared at her friend for a moment. "You okay?" she asked softly.

"No," Blake snapped back, and headed for the door, stepping over White Fang corpses as she did so. Yang did not at all like what she saw in the Faunus' yellow eyes.

They moved out onto the sidewalk. There were scattered shots, but nowhere near the volume of fire they heard before. Carefully, the pilots moved forward, joined by Octavia Ember and a hobbling Pyrrha. Yang turned the wounded over to a medic, then got Pyrrha's arm around her. They reached the end of the sidewalk, crossed the street, and came to the fence that separated the base from the transient tarmac. They could see some of the security forces moving forward in short sprints, occasionally firing into the treeline.

Blake took point, and moved forward to the door of the equipment building. She tried the doorknob; it was open. She eased the door open, one hand on the knob and another on the carbine. The room seemed deserted, but everything was in place: helmets were in their bags, hanging from their hooks, along with flight suits, G-suits, and survival vests. Blake listened with four ears, then crept forward.

Something moved behind one of the lockers. She raised the carbine. "Who goes there?" There was no answer. "You have three seconds before I open fire."

Slowly, a Faunus came into view—a male with wolf ears, probably no older than sixteen. He was wearing a White Fang vest. He held his hands up. "Please…don't shoot," he pleaded.

Blake was tempted to shoot anyway; her finger tightened on the trigger. Then she thought better of it. "Strip," she ordered. The Faunus hesitated. "Strip!" she shouted. "Naked! Now!"

The Faunus nodded vigorously and did exactly as he was told, just as Yang, Pyrrha and Ruby walked in. Yang blinked. "Uh, Blake?"

"On the floor!" Blake ordered. Now nude, he dropped to the floor and put his hands over his head. "Check his clothes." Ruby nodded and went forward. So did Blake, keeping the M4 trained on the White Fang soldier's head. "You move, and I will blow your fucking head off. Do you have any grenades in those clothes? Explosives? Suicide vest?"

"No!" the Faunus screamed. "I got separated from the rest! Then all the shooting…I was scared, I didn't know what to do…"

Ruby stepped on the discarded clothes. "All clear, Blake. His rifle's over here." She reached forward and carefully picked up an AK-47.

Blake hauled the Faunus to his feet and shoved him towards Octavia. "Get him out of here."

"He's naked," Yang said.

"I don't care." She turned to Octavia. "Turn him over to the security guys. He probably knows a lot about the Fang and their numbers. Don't let the little bastard cover himself." Octavia nodded and shoved the Faunus out the door.

Pyrrha realized she was the senior officer in the room, and though Blake was doing well enough, there was something about her demeanor that was frightening. "Everyone, get your gear on. I'll watch the door. Hurry—leave your survival vests. Flight suits and G-suits only."

Quickly, weapons were set down and regular clothes were thrown aside, as pilots pulled on flight suits and G-suits. Helmets were grabbed off the shelf. Pyrrha, already in her flight suit, watched the door. Her ankle throbbed, but the grenade fragment had been only a flesh wound. She saw Velvet come in, strip down to her underwear, and pull on her flight suit. "Velvet. Is Fox all right?" she asked.

"I don't know. I'll check on him later."

"Velvet," Ruby said gently. "You're a WSO. Your Tornado got shot down—"

"No fucking shit!" Velvet shouted back. "I've already started training to transition into the front seat as soon as we got back home. I know enough to fly!"

"But there's no spare—"

"Ruth's Jaguar." Velvet speared Ruby with a furious look. "I'm going. You want to stop me, you'll have to shoot me."

"Sky down, big chief," Yang said. "You're gonna fly." She looked around the room, taking stock. All of Ruby Flight was present—Ruby, herself, Blake, Weiss. Juniper as well: Nora, Ren, Pyrrha and Jaune. Octavia had returned, the only member of Indigo Flight present, though the rest should be at the dispersal. Coco, Yatsuhatchi, and Velvet rounded out Coffee. Sun Flight was all there: Sun, Neptune, Sage, Scarlet. 16 pilots, plus Auburn and Indigo with the aircraft. Yang grinned. That was more than enough to kick the hell out of whoever was up there.

Blake waved to get everyone's attention. "Listen! The bread trucks are gone, so we're going to have to make a run for it. Everyone runs, nobody stops. Someone gets hit, you have to leave them. We get to the aircraft at all costs. Understand? _Nobody stops."_

They all nodded. Blake didn't want to think about it: it was half a mile to the dispersal, over open ground. If there were any White Fang around, they'd be sitting ducks. And Adam was still up there, though she doubted that he would strafe them; he had an odd sort of honor about such things.

They all gathered close to the door. "Pyrrha," Jaune said. "Your ankle—"

"I won't have far to run. My F-16 is parked right out the door, remember? As long as the White Fang didn't sabotage it." She smiled at him. "Good luck. _Je t'aime."_ She wished she could kiss him, but this wasn't the place for it.

"_Se agapo,"_ he replied. Jaune squeezed her hand, unseen in the press of pilots.

"Let's do it," Ruby said impatiently.

"Go," Blake ordered.

Adam Taurus swept over Beacon. He was bored. No one else was trying to take off. He checked his fuel gauge.

"Well, well," he heard Roman's voice. The F-5 was turning as well over the base. "Looks like a whole bunch of people running across the tarmac. I bet those are pilots." He leveled off, preparing to roll in. "I almost feel sorry for them."

"Hold your fire," Adam snapped. "Let them get to their aircraft, if they can." He leveled off as well, and touched his speedbrakes, falling back behind Roman. "You peel off, I'll shoot _you_ down. Let them get in the air. Fighter pilots shouldn't kill each other on the ground like common footsloggers."

"Well, aren't we the honorable one," Roman growled back, but held his course.

"Hello, my lover! Seven o'clock low." Roman turned at Neo's voice, and grinned as he saw the red F-22 skimming over the trees to the north. Then he realized she was heading for the tanks.

* * *

_Task Force Karelia_

_Between I-94 and Joint Base Beacon_

_1510 Local_

"So…this…is…why…you…didn't…want…anyone…on top!" Sean Fletcher struggled out, trying not to be bounced out of the tank. The three Abrams were heading across a farmer's field towards the north fence, and Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata's driver seemed bent on hitting every chuckhole and ditch along the way—without slowing down. He held onto the gunner's M240 with one hand and the Stinger with the other, afraid it would bounce right off the tank.

"Fun, eh?" The captain grinned madly at him. Fletcher groaned; she was enjoying this. Then he looked past her, and saw a glint of sunlight off canopy. "Aircraft west!" He pointed. Her head swiveled in that direction, and she slewed the .50 caliber machine gun to bear. Before she had a chance to radio a warning, the other tanks had already spotted the F-22 coming in, and opened fire with their machine guns. Karelia pulled the triggers and held on as the heavy machine gun bucked in her hands.

"Slow this fucker down!" Fletcher yelled. He grabbed the Stinger, braced himself, and raised it to his shoulder. The driver slowed down a little, but not much. Karelia saw what he was doing and dropped back down into the turret. Fletcher fired, and the missile went wide. The F-22 broke off its attack and climbed nonetheless.

Karelia climbed back up onto the .50. "I fucking hate airplanes."

* * *

_Transient Aircraft Ramp_

_1510 Local_

The pilots charged out of the door. No one yelled or cheered, saving their breath for the run. The parked C-130 gave them a little cover. Pyrrha let go of Jaune's hand and ran for her F-16, which looked intact.

Yang saw Ciel Soileil's body lying next to her F-15, the canopy blown off and smoking. "Fucking bastards," she said under her breath.

Then they were in the open, and the pilots broke into a sprint. Everyone waited for the shots to come, but they were halfway across before one did. The crack resounded across the tarmac, and Scarlet screamed as he went down, tumbling to a halt. Despite Blake's advice, Sun slid next to him, throwing himself between whoever fired and his flightmate.

So did Ruby. She dropped prone, turned towards the treeline in the distance, and saw something move. She sighted down the barrel, through the iron sight, and fired twice. A second later, a White Fang soldier fell out of a tree and landed motionless in the grass.

"Holy shit!" Sun exclaimed. Ruby watched the treeline as Sun grabbed Scarlet, levered him onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and ran the rest of the distance. Ruby waited until he was past, then took off running herself. No other shots came.

The pilots dashed past the F-8, which was still burning, but Nebula's last act before abandoning it had kept it from blocking the taxiway or the fire from getting close to the revetments. In the first revetment, Arslan's F-16 was a smoldering wreck, surrounded by mechanics with fire extinguishers; the berm that surrounded the revetments protected them from the White Fang.

Vogelmord ran out to them, meeting Yang and Blake first. "Who's with you?"

"We got Ruby, Juniper, Sun, most of Coffee, and Octavia from Indigo," Yang puffed out. "Are the aircraft ready?"

"Yeah, if you can get off the ground." Vogelmord pointed upwards. "There's two of the bastards. One of them strolled right in here and took Lieutenant Ember's F-5 right out from under us. We fell for it, Captain. Thought he was one of ours. I think it was that Roman Torchwick asshole. Anyway, the one with the forward swept wings got Flynt Coal as he was taking off. We saw a 'chute, so maybe he got out okay. I think Lieutenant Katt and Lieutenant Kobalt got out. They headed west for some reason."

"We'll have to chance it," said Blake. "Pyrrha got to her F-16 all right—as long as the White Fang didn't screw with it." Sun carried Scarlet into the nearest revetment, which held Bolin Hori's F-16. Blood was running from Scarlet's left leg. One of the mechanics rushed over, pulled off his belt, and tied it above the wound as a tourniquet, as two others ran towards them with first aid kits. Blake ran to Sun and bent down next to Scarlet. "How bad?"

"Hit the leg. I think it's broken." Scarlet sucked in his breath as the mechanic tied the tourniquet tight. "Shit! Fuck!"

"We've got two spare aircraft, then," Vogelmord said. "Apologies to Lieutenant David, but he's not flying anything now. His Lavi and Lionheart's Jag."

"Velvet's taking the Jag," Yang said. "She'll probably rip someone's throat out with her sharp, pointy teeth if someone tries to take it away from her. We need to figure out who'll take the Lavi." Octavia and Arslan, who had run up to the pilots, looked at each other. Arslan chose rock; Octavia chose paper; Arslan spit a vile Turkish curse. "Sorry," Octavia said. To Scarlet, she smiled. "I'll take care of it for you, my friend."

"Allah go with you," Scarlet grinned, then fought back a yell as pain washed through him, the ground crew dressing the wound.

"A Jordanian flying an Israeli airplane." Sun laughed, despite it all.

Blake raised her hands for everyone's attention. "All right! Pilots, man your planes! We go out by the numbers—Bolin and Gwen, that's you! Don't bother waiting for instructions—we don't even know if the tower crew is still alive! Combat departures! Go!"

They all began running for their aircraft. Yang stopped Ruby as she handed off her M4 to one of the ground crew. "You okay, sis?"

Ruby nodded. It had occurred to her that she'd killed another living being today, three times at least, but she'd have to worry about that later. There wasn't time now. "I'm good."

"Let's go kick some ass!" Yang pulled on her helmet, hugged her sister, and ran for _Ember Celica._

* * *

_Base Hospital _

_1515 Local_

Cinder took out a knife and slid the plastic curtain open, as Amber continued to babble happily. It had taken a bit, but Cinder now had the activation code for the Fall Maiden. She took the wristband off Amber's hands. "I'm taking this to Ozpin, okay?"

"Um…no, I need…to keep that," Amber protested, but she was too weak and too much under the effect of the drug to do more than paw at Cinder's hands. "That's mine, dammit," she said, then dissolved into giggles again.

Cinder strapped on the wristband, got out from under the plastic, and picked up the pistol from where she'd set it on a chair. She kept her back to Amber, and was about to turn and shoot her, when she hesitated. Then she set the pistol down again. "Amber. Where do they keep your morphine?"

"Over there somewhere," Amber laughed. "Why? You gonna…shoot up?"

Cinder found the morphine and filled three syringes with a fatal overdose. Then she went back past the plastic curtain and injected all three into Amber's arm. She brushed a strand of hair from the other woman's face. "You…gonna kiss me?" Amber snorted. "Don't like girls!"

Cinder could not help but smile. "Goodbye, Amber." By the time she picked up the pistol, tossed aside the smock, and reached the elevator, Amber had already subsided into a sleep from which she would never awaken.

* * *

_Base Headquarters _

_1520 Local_

"Yes, Mr. President. At this point I do not know if I can get aircraft in the air, and the Barrier is no longer operational; if we reactivate it, it may attack everything that flies. If I can, then there's a possibility we can shoot this Wyvern down, but with its approximate size, I see no other choice at the moment." Ozpin paused, waiting for President Shawcross to finish. "That is my recommendation. I realize I am jumping the chain of command, but time is short. If we can't stop the GRIMM, they will then attack Chicago. Ellsworth and Sioux Falls are scrambling their fighters, but they may not be enough and they may be too late." He paused again. "Yes, I know, Mr. President. But I see no other choice. If you wish to relieve me of command after all this is over, I will understand." Involuntarily, Ozpin smiled. "I might even help you." Another pause. "Thank you, Mr. President. I will activate my code now. Would you like me to stay on the line? Very well, sir. Yes, sir. God help us all." Ozpin hung up, and looked at Glynda, taking a deep breath. He felt cold, all of a sudden, and very old. "Maiden use authorized."

"Mother of God," Glynda breathed.

Ozpin turned to his terminal. He opened a folder marked _Committee Correspondence,_ which contained two hundred extremely boring minutes of long-forgotten meetings, and hidden among them, the activation program for the Fall Maiden. He opened that file, and began typing. The phone rang, and he picked it up while continuing to type. "Ozpin." He stopped typing. "Excellent. Thank you. That's something at least." He put down the phone. "The tarmac is clear; the White Fang have fallen back to the forest south of the runway. The pilots made it to their planes."

"Then we might be able to shoot this thing down without using the Maiden," Glynda said.

"Possibly. I'm going to activate it anyway, then go over and get Amber to do the same. We haven't committed yet, but it will be nice to have the Maiden—just in case." He waved her towards the door. "Go, Glynda, and don't forget the world was made in seven days. I can grant you anything, except time."

Glynda smiled wanly at the quote; it was Napoleon, who along with Winston Churchill Ozpin liked to quote now and then. "We'll kill this thing," she said, and ran out the door. Ozpin went back to his typing.

Glynda ran for all she was worth towards the stairwell. The door opened just as she reached it. Standing in front of her was Cinder Fall. The two women stared at each other for a moment, then Cinder raised the pistol and shot Glynda twice in the stomach. Glynda gasped with the pain and collapsed, gripping her middle as Cinder stepped over her and walked down the hall. She tried to shout a warning, but the pain stole her breath.

Ozpin's door was still open, and Cinder strode in. "Hello, Captain Ozpin." She raised the pistol.

"Cinder Fall," he said, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "If that is your real name."

Cinder kicked the door shut. "Strangely enough, it is. Colonel Goodwitch won't be joining us, on account of dying." She shook her head. "She was right about you, you know—Salem, that is. She knew that, if you were pressed, you'd activate the Fall Maiden." She motioned at the computer.

"If you're trying to take control of it, it won't work," Ozpin said. "You need all three codes." He saw the wristband. "What happened to Amber?"

"What was going to happen to her the moment she accepted the task of controlling the Fall Maiden," Cinder said. "Don't worry; she didn't suffer. Certainly no more than you already made her suffer. As for the Maiden itself…" Cinder shrugged. "Who said anything about taking control of it? Salem doesn't want that, Ozpin. She doesn't need to control the Maidens. She only needs to ensure they can never be used." He stared at her. "She wanted me to ask you a question, Ozpin."

"Which is?" There was a pistol in his desk. He wondered if he'd be fast enough to get to it.

"How does it feel to know that you've started _another_ world war?" Then Cinder raised the pistol and shot Ozpin. Blood sprayed on the wall from his head and he fell off his chair to the floor. Cinder then shot the computer twice. As it sparked and died, she reloaded the pistol and left the office.

"You…" Glynda gritted her teeth against the pain.

"Keep pressure on it," Cinder said conversationally as she walked past. "And you might live. Unlike poor old Amber and dear old Ozpin."

"You'll never escape," Glynda snarled.

"Oh, yes I will." Cinder winked at her. "Is your F-22 parked at the transient ramp, Colonel?" She stepped over her again and went down the stairs. 

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: What Pyrrha and Jaune say to each other is "I love you" in French and Greek, respectively. Which doesn't bode well..._


	27. Separate Ways

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Moving into the aerial portion of the Battle of Beacon with this chapter. More notes at the end._

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal Area A_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1520 Local_

"Beacon Tower, Juniper Lead," Pyrrha radioed. "We're scrambling. How's it look?" It wasn't exactly radio protocol, but there was no time for that. As the senior officer until Goodwitch showed up—assuming she ever did, and wasn't dead somewhere—Pyrrha knew she had to take command.

"Juniper, Beacon. Runways are clear but there are White Fang in the woods. You may get some small arms fire when you take off. Wind is out of the southwest at five miles an hour, ceiling is scattered to broken, visibility ten miles. Be advised, there is a large amount of GRIMM approaching from the west, bearing 170, range 100—raid count is now 24, including one very large GRIMM, codenamed Wyvern. Funky Two, Cardinal Lead and Crow 13 are engaged. Also be advised of three bandits overhead—one F-5, one F-22, and one possible armed X-29."

_Now tell me the bad news,_ Pyrrha thought balefully. "Roger that, Beacon. Stand by." She switched frequencies to the squadron net. "All Beacon aircraft, this is Pyrrha. I'm taking over as force commander." She relayed the news about the GRIMM and the White Fang. "We won't worry about flight assignments for now. Whoever is first out goes up. Engage the fighters first, and then we'll worry about the GRIMM." She eased the throttle forward, checking behind her to make sure that she was clear of the C-130. There was no one to guide her; she'd already had to pull her own chocks. She turned the F-16 around. "I'll hold here and take off last. Who is first out?"

"This is Gwen. Out first." Pyrrha looked across the taxiway and saw Gwen Darcy's Typhoon come out of its revetment.

"Pyrrha, Bolin. Out second." The Turkish F-16 of Bolin Hori followed Gwen out.

"Roger. Beacon Tower, Pyrrha, are you listening?"

"Roger that, Pyrrha. Bolin and Gwen, you are cleared for immediate takeoff. Recommend combat departure."

"Yeah, no shit," Bolin replied. Pyrrha watched the Typhoon and the F-16 taxi into place at the end of both runways. She then looked up. The three ship formation of White Fang fighters were orbiting to the west.

* * *

Adam dipped his right wing and saw the two aircraft turn onto Beacon's parallel runways. "Neo, Roman, this is Adam," he radioed. "Hold position. Don't attack until they're in the air. We don't want them blocking the runways if they go down."

"Why not?" Neo asked.

"Don't you want kills, Neo? Strafing doesn't count." Neo said nothing more, but held formation. He was counting on her bloodthirsty attitude. If the runways were blocked, Blake wasn't going to get in the air. "As soon as they clear the trees, nail them."

* * *

"Bolin, Gwen, go!" Pyrrha ordered. The Typhoon and the F-16 lit their afterburners and roared down the runway. As both lifted into the air, they climbed hard, popping flares. Pyrrha saw no tracers come out of the woods, but then two smoke trails lofted out. "Bolin, Gwen, SAM! SAM! Break now!"

Gwen rolled, more flares dropping from her aircraft; the Stinger aimed at her chased a flare and exploded. The other tracked on Bolin, who was a fraction too slow, and detonated just behind his tailpipe. The F-16 somersaulted, went into the trees and exploded.

Gwen started her climb again to clear any further Stingers. Pyrrha saw the red F-22 suddenly roar past. "Gwen, break right, Raptor behind you!" she shouted. She watched in horror as the Typhoon made a hard break, but Gwen was out of energy; she'd lost too much speed dodging the Stinger. The F-22 easily compensated, and even at this distance, Pyrrha could see sparks fly from the narrow fuselage of the Typhoon, followed by smoke and flame as the Raptor pilot marched cannon shells down the length of the aircraft. The Typhoon stalled and began to roll over: Gwen ejected, but she was too low, and seat and pilot disappeared into the woods. There was another explosion.

Pyrrha flooded the air with Greek curses and banged a hand against the side of the cockpit. They were trapped.

* * *

_Highway 12, Between Oakdale and Camp Douglas_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1525 Local_

"Sir," Corporal Lance Ballew asked, "what exactly does _tabarnak_ mean? I mean, I get it's a Quebecois curse, but it doesn't really seem that nasty. I mean, I know some Cajun curses that are a lot worse…"

"You're going to hear worse ones in a minute," Major Jacob Gagnon growled. He looked at the map again for the third time in as many minutes. It had been the Wisconsin Highway Patrol's idea to use the frontage road—Highway 12—to reach the main gate and bypass the traffic snarl on the interstate. They hadn't counted on the frontage road being in even worse condition, as people in the surrounding towns fled the area, and returning base personnel tried to get back in. They had been staring at the sign proclaiming that they were entering Juneau County for the past five minutes without moving. It was three miles to the front gate: his men could easily make the run, but it would take time. Nor could they go offroad, not with the ditches, woods, and scattered buildings on either side of the road.

There was a knock on the side of the door. Gagnon looked out to see a rather incongrous sight: a skinny man with a shock of green hair, wearing a white shirt that wasn't tucked into his pants, and a yellow tie. "What the hell do you want?" Normally Gagnon was a pleasant man for a Delta Force troop commander, but this situation would try the patience of Job.

"Pardon me, Major. My name is Oobleck, Bartholomew Oobleck. I'm an instructor at Beacon."

Gagnon's voice softened, though only by a fraction. "What can I do for you, Mr. Oobleck?"

"Two things, Major. First of all, are you Delta Force, and secondly, if you are, may my friend and I ride with you?" He thumbed behind him, and Gagnon saw in the rearview mirror a somewhat portly man with a huge mustache, wearing the duty uniform of the Royal Air Force. "Unfortunately we chose this day to have lunch at Tomah. We can expedite your passage through the front gate—assuming we get there before the emergency is over."

"Why do you think I'm Delta Force?" Gagnon asked.

"You're wearing no insignia but your rank and the USC flag. That means you are not with the 1st Armored Division. Your battle dress is the older Canadian pattern, rather than that worn by local Army or National Guard formations. The truck is National Guard, though you are not, which means you have requistioned it, possibly without clearance. Your hair is longer than Army regulations, and several of the men in the back of the truck are carrying armament not normally issued to regular US Army formations. You speak with a Quebecois accent—Montreal, if I'm not mistaken—but there are no Quebecois-heavy units in the Army, aside from the regiments assigned to guard Quebec…and the disproportionate amount of Quebecois who ended up in Special Forces units. And since none of you are Faunus, I can reasonably assume you are not more White Fang who are simply late to the party. Of course, you _could_ be Princess Patricia's Light Infantry, though most of those are Albertans—"

Gagnon gaped at the strange man. He was not normally at a loss for words. "Erhm…I'm afraid that's classified, Mr. Oobleck."

"Ah! As I thought. Thank you, Major."

Gagnon realized he'd just confirmed his identity to Oobleck. "You're from around here, then?"

"Originally, I'm from Montana, but—"

"Good. You can help me." Gagnon got out of the truck, and walked down the middle of the road. "People of Wisconsin! My unit needs to get to Beacon to kill terrorists! Your cooperation will be appreciated!" He spread his arms out to either side. "Please move your cars off the road!"

He half expected the people staring at him from their cars to ignore him, curse him, or make rude gestures. To his pleasant surprise, people began to drive their cars onto lawns, onto what little shoulder there was, and even into the ditch to clear the road. Ballew began moving forward as Port parked the car, got out and joined Oobleck in swinging into the back of the truck.

Gagnon motioned the truck forward. It was slow going, but at least they were moving. He ducked as something flashed by overhead. It was triangle shaped and moving fast, but he got a glimpse of it. "A F-117?"

* * *

_Squadron Dispersal A_

_1530 Local_

Pyrrha took a deep breath. "We have to keep trying. Whoever's next, start rolling."

"Ruby Flight, rolling." She watched as Ruby's red-trimmed F-16 rolled out and turned onto the taxiway, followed by Weiss' Typhoon.

A shadow passed over Pyrrha's F-16. She saw the F-22 come over again. "Damn you," she breathed. "Give us a fair fight."

* * *

"Roman, Neo. Guess who? Eleven low."

Roman looked over the nose of the F-5 and saw Ruby Rose's F-16 taxiing forward. "Oh, you can _not_ be serious," he laughed. "Little Red. She's mine, Neo. Adam, tell the White Fang to hold their fire. I want to kill that little bitch myself."

"Understood." Adam relayed the message to Sienna Khan below. He understood the need for vengeance.

Roman circled patiently, like a shark, as another pair of F-16 and Typhoon lined up on the runway. Neo swung in behind Roman; she'd take the Typhoon. It was hardly sporting, but when it came to Ruby Rose, he wasn't really in a sporting mood.

* * *

Pyrrha fought down tears. She was ordering her friends into death. The White Fang were waiting, and there was nothing she could do about it. "Ruby, Weiss…go. Combat departure. Keep your speed up."

"Pyrrha, Ruby. We got this. Here we go." Ruby sounded calm and confident. Pyrrha didn't know if it was the confidence of youth or boneheaded optimism. The afterburners lit, and the two began rolling. Pyrrha watched the F-5 and the F-22. They were stalking the pair, waiting. "You've got fighters that will be on you the moment you're in the air."

"Weiss, tally-ho on the bandits." Weiss had seen them.

The two fighters shot down the runway.

* * *

Roman put his F-5 into a shallow dive, and switched to guns. He'd be too close for missiles in any case. He decided he wouldn't _quite_ be nasty enough to stitch shells across Ruby's canopy; if she bailed out, fine, but if she didn't, oh well. He'd leave it to fate. He centered the gunsight on the back of the F-16 as the nose rotated off the ground.

"Roman, Neo, break right! Break right!" Adam's shout had Roman's hands moving before his brain even registered the fact. He fought against the Gs to find out what was attacking him as a Sidewinder sailed past. The F-5 didn't have the best vision to the rear, so he snapped back to the left, trying to sight his enemy. Then he saw it, turning towards Neo. It was a F-117 Nighthawk, which wasn't supposed to carry Sidewinders.

Then he had bigger problems. The F-16 and the Typhoon were in the air, and they were turning in his direction.

* * *

"Crow 13 to Beacon." Pyrrha heard the call. "You got some time. Don't waste it."

"Yang, Blake!" Pyrrha yelled. "Go, go, go! Coco, Yatsu, you're next! Start moving!"

The F-15 and the F-14 were already rolling down the taxiway, faster than normally would be considered safe. Pyrrha could swear that Yang was trying to drift the F-15 as it turned onto the runway, lit its afterburners, and took off.

* * *

Adam saw the black F-14. "Fang Six. Don't you _dare_ fire on the F-14 or the F-15. They're mine." He smiled as the two aircraft rose into the air, and throttled back. He wanted Blake to get plenty of room.

* * *

_The Treeline_

_1535 Local_

Ilia Amitola was glad Adam had ordered the White Fang to hold their fire. Yuma's Stinger team was right next to her team, and she would've shot him had he fired on the F-14 she knew was Blake's, CIA cover or no cover. She saw Adam's Moonslice angling in behind the two fighters as they rose into the air, but there was no way to warn Blake about that. That was in hands other than Ilia's.

"Two more coming up!" Ilia saw a Mirage F.1 and a F-2A now moving into position to takeoff. She saw the Spanish markings on the Mirage and wondered if it was Emerald Sustrai; they hadn't been briefed on whether or not Emerald had maintained her cover. _Fortunes of war,_ she thought; if Emerald got killed, that was one less problem Ilia had to worry about. Yuma's team had reloaded their Stingers and waited at the edge of the treeline.

She glanced back at the western treeline, where the woods met the main part of the base. There was a firefight going on there, with gunfire occasionally rising and falling, as targets showed themselves and didn't. That looked to be a draw: the White Fang were in good cover, and the base Security Forces were not about to charge blindly into that cover.

"Wish we could take a shot," one of her team sighed. The Javelins weren't much use against aircraft. They went vertical right after being fired, to attack a tank from above where its armor was thin, and they couldn't guide fast enough on fast movers. A helicopter was not impossible, but a fighter was. He turned back to Ilia. "Should we move over and support the High Leader to the west—"

"Holy shit!" Royce called out, grabbing one of the Javelins and setting it up. "Tanks in the treeline, across the runway!"

* * *

_Task Force Karelia_

_1537 Hours_

Karelia stood up a little higher and looked over the slanted front plate of her Abrams' turret. "Yeah, it's still there, Heather."

"Well, shit. I can't see very well with that thing hanging off the front end, Captain," her driver replied. The thing was the ten feet of base perimeter fence wrapped around the front of the tank, stuck there after they'd hit it at forty miles an hour. It had dragged under the tank, somehow not getting wrapped into the treads, as they bounced through hiking trails in the woods. Karelia's second tank had taken the lead and torn through a second fence—slower this time, crushing it rather than carrying it—and now they were emerging from the woods, the runway in sight.

There was a flash from the woods, and a brief smoke trail. Then something shot straight up, trailing flame, and Karelia knew what it was. She dropped into the turret, slamming the hatch, screaming on her mike, "Javelin! Javelin! All Kilo elements, move, move move!" She looked at her gunner, whose face was already pressed to the eyepiece of the sight, and sighted through the vision blocks. "Designate, Gunner, HEAT, antitank team!" The tank surged forward.

"Identified, antitank team," he confirmed. Through the infrared sights of the Abrams, the gunner could see the glowing heat of figures moving in the treeline. HEAT—High Explosive Anti-Tank—was not really the best weapon to use against infantry, but he just needed to keep their heads down long enough to close the distance. Besides, they had nothing else: the tank was loaded to fight GRIMM, not infantry. "Range 700." None of the four occupants of the Abrams thought about the Javelin that might be at that moment coming down on their heads; there wasn't time.

"Up!" the loader called, slamming the shell home and clearing the gun breech.

"Fire!" Karelia called.

"On the way!" The breech slammed back, ejecting the spent shell. At the same time, the Abrams rocked with a nearby explosion.

Karelia watched the thin trail of smoke the HEAT round left. It took less than two seconds to land in the treeline, blowing trees into splinters. She got on her own sight. The infrared signature of the White Fang were glowing even hotter now, and she remembered reading about how people who were terrified tended to glow almost pure white in infrared sights. She didn't see anyone down as they went across one runway. "Stop tank!" she shouted. They couldn't block the runway. "Gunner, Coax, infantry."

The gunner switched over to the coaxial machine gun, located right next to the main gun. "Identified. Infantry in the treeline, range 250."

"Fire."

The Abrams' turret began to move left and right, sending 7.62 millimeter bullets scything through the trees. A second round exploded in the trees, sending splinters raining down on the White Fang as Karelia's second tank pulled up next to her. She twisted around in her seat and saw her third tank burning at the edge of the trees they'd just come from. "Fuck," she snapped.

There was another problem to address too, and that required her to risk her life a bit more. Taking a deep breath, she opened her hatch, hoped that there was no enterprising White Fang sniper around who liked to kill tank commanders that stuck their heads out, and did exactly that. Her tanks were parked in the median between the two runways, and neither were blocking them—there was even enough clearance of the main guns. Wondering if she was about to die, Karelia stood up completely, waved her arms frantically, then dropped back down in the turret as a bullet clanged off the hatch.

"What the hell, ma'am?" her loader asked.

"No way to talk to the flyboys. I hope they got my message." She stole another quick look, then spoke into her mike. "Target, cease fire!" The tanks stopped firing, and they shook as the Mirage F.1 shot past in afterburner only feet away, and rose into the sky. The gunner didn't wait for Karelia to give an order; as soon as they were clear, he began hosing the treeline again.

* * *

Ilia grabbed Yuma, who was bleeding from where a bullet had torn straight through the membrane of his wing, and dragged him clear, ducking as machine gun fire went through the trees above her. The rest of the Javelin team was dead. "Fall back!" she shouted. "Fall back!" She watched as someone fired an RPG at one of the tanks, only to see it bounce off the front of the turret. The gun tracked on the RPG gunner and another part of the forest exploded.

Ilia turned over Yuma to Royce, and found Sienna kneeling in a small clearing. "Tanks on the runway, High Leader. We've lost our Javelins."

Sienna nodded. The White Fang's part in this was over now. She blew four blasts on her whistle, the signal to disperse. The survivors would now break into small groups and exfiltrate to the east. She took the radio headset from her radioman. "Adam, Fang Six. We're withdrawing. Good luck." Then she ordered the radioman to drop the backpack radio, pulled a pin from her last hand grenade, and gently placed it under the radio, the spoon held down by the weight of the backpack. Whoever picked up would be in for a fatal surprise.

The machine gun fire slackened again, but it was only to allow another pair of aircraft—a Jaguar and a Lavi, Ilia noted—to take off.

* * *

_Above Beacon _

_1540 Hours_

Ruby and Weiss turned hard right, trying to get behind the F-5's tail, Weiss dropping back to cover Ruby, who had the lead. Blake did the same, touching her speedbrake just a bit to let Yang take the lead in their element. Yang was tracking on the F-22, which was turning in behind Weiss—but _Ember Celica_ was in the Raptor's blind spot, below and behind. She caught the F-117 ducking out to the west; Qrow Branwen evidently did not want to get caught in the middle of the developing furball. His Nighthawk might be modified, but it was still at a disadvantage against any of the aircraft in the air.

_Next question,_ Blake asked herself as she looked around, following Yang into a gentle right turn. _Where's Adam?_ Then she spotted the Moonslice, well to the rear, but still behind her, and her radio crackled. "Running away again? Is that what you've become, my love? A coward?"

Blake knew Adam was baiting her. Both _Ember Celica_ and _Gambol Shroud_ could easily outdistance the Moonslice. Her responsibility was to cover Yang's tail, not engage in a duel with her ex-boyfriend. If he engaged, that was one thing, but right now, he was just sitting there. But despite herself, she still answered his call. She always had, after all. "Why are you doing this, Adam?"

"You and I were going to change the world, remember? We were destined to light the fires of a revolution! And this, my dear…this is the spark that lights the world on fire." The Moonslice came out of its gentle turn, and Blake saw the nose coming around to bear on Velvet's Jaguar. "But keep running, if you like."

Blake snapped the stick hard over to the right, making a hard turn to engage Adam. "I'm not running!" she snarled, baring her teeth under the mask.

The nose of Moonslice shifted around to face her, as they approached each other head-on. "You _will,"_ Adam promised. "But you're going to suffer for your betrayal first."

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTES (PART II): Many thanks to TopHatGuy for giving me the correct orders for tank crews to engage targets. (And I probably got it wrong for the Javelin warning. This is why I write air combat more than ground combat that doesn't involve 'Mechs.)_

_Next chapter: Blake vs. Adam, Weiss and Ruby vs. Roman, and Yang vs. Neo. Wait, is that how it's supposed to happen? And then Cinder needs to get into the fight...and then there's those pesky GRIMM..._


	28. Into the Fire

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one's the big one, folks. Well, until Pyrrha fights Cinder in the next chapter, anyway._

_In canon RWBY, of course, Weiss wasn't around when Ruby fought Neo and Roman, but there was no way she wouldn't be with Ruby in this story (Weiss wouldn't leave her wingmate), so she's in this fight. The two dogfights actually take place simutaneously; this was the only way I could get it to work without it being too confusing.  
_

_And yes, small arms will kill a high-performance fighter, if it gets down in the weeds. We lost a lot of multi-million dollar airplanes over Vietnam to tens of dollars worth of rifle ammunition._

* * *

_Over Joint Base Beacon_

_Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1540 Hours Local_

"Weiss, Ruby! I'm on Roman! Where are you?" Ruby Rose was trying to keep her nose on Roman Torchwick's stolen F-5, which was nowhere near as easy as it sounded. She checked her tail and saw the red F-22 closing in. "I've got a Raptor on my ass!"

"Ruby, Weiss…I'm on the Raptor." Weiss' voice was calm, as if she was discussing going to the store. "DUST, lock onto target, select IRIS-T." The onboard computer beeped, and in the helmet sight projected on her visor, she saw the gunsight settle on the F-22. It was having trouble keeping locked- the Raptor's engines were shielded from infrared—but if necessary, the IRIS could home on the heat from the fighter's canopy. Weiss squeezed the trigger, and a missile reached out from her Typhoon. It guided on the F-22; if her sheer will could guide the missile, Weiss would have the kill.

Abruptly, the F-22 made a shallow dive, then shot upwards, dropping flares into its wake, as it used its thrust vectoring to suddenly change its direction. The IRIS homed in and blew up a flare, but Weiss barely reacted, firing a second one—only to have the Raptor accelerate, roll, and dodge that missile as well. It shot past _Myrtenaster._ Weiss had succeeded in getting it off Ruby's tail, at least, but now she would have to pursue, otherwise the Raptor pilot would simply reverse and end up behind both of them. "Ruby, Weiss—I'm going after the Raptor."

Ruby clicked the mike twice. It meant splitting the element, but there was no choice now. Roman had already dodged one of her Sidewinder shots, so she closed the distance, switching to guns.

Unfortunately for her, Roman had anticipated it. He waited a precious second, then suddenly threw the F-5 hard to the left. Ruby swore as she overshot, then turned hard to the right, gasping as the G-suit squeezed her hard, fighting against nine times the force of gravity as she punished _Crescent Rose_ into a hard turn. Roman couldn't sustain this kind of turn, so if he was trying to stay with her—and she couldn't look around, with her head weighing approximately over eighty pounds—he would be forced back in front.

* * *

Weiss climbed hard, then rolled out upside down, over the top, keeping her eyes on Neo. The F-22 was gone. _Oh shit,_ Weiss thought. If she couldn't see the Raptor, it meant that somehow it was behind her. She pushed the throttle forward and dived.

Neo had seen the Typhoon go into its climb, and realized Weiss had made a mistake: she'd taken her eyes off the Raptor for a few seconds. It was enough for Neo to turn the F-22 within its own length—an act that nearly threw her against the cockpit consoles with its violence, and had her actually screaming against the G-force—go to afterburners, and climb after the Typhoon. "Ha," Neo snorted, as she ended up behind and underneath her opponent, where Weiss could not see her. She opened fire with the gun, tracking shells into the rear of the Typhoon. Smoke and flame burst from the back of the fighter before the gunfire stopped. Neo glanced at the round counter: the gun was empty. She watched the Typhoon going down, smoking and burning, and smiled: it was finished. She went into a dive, rolled out at the bottom, then saw Roman's F-5, with the red-trimmed F-16 closing in behind.

* * *

Roman had expected that Ruby would break with him, which would allow him to get into a rolling scissors with her, exactly the sort of low-speed knife fight the F-5 excelled at. To his surprise, when he came out of his break and turned into where he thought the F-16 would be, it was not there. "Oops," he said aloud, and checked the rearview mirrors set into the F-5's canopy. "Little Red, Little Red," he sighed, "you're just _determined _to be the hero of Vale, aren't you?"

Ruby came out of the hard turn and saw the F-5 right in front of her. "Let's try that again," she growled, and set up another Sidewinder shot. Then she caught movement the corner of her left eye, a brief flash. Before she could barely register what that meant, her right hand, on the stick, was already moving. She turned _Crescent Rose_ into the flash, and an AMRAAM shot past; her sudden move threw off the missile's radar head, and she'd escaped its proxmity detonation sensor by mere feet. The Raptor went past seconds later.

* * *

Neo cursed; she'd fired the AMRAAM too fast and too close. No matter, she thought, throwing the F-22 into a loop and then rolling back to horizontal as she came out of it: as long as the F-16 kept on its course, she'd be in better parameters. Sure enough, her opponent was in a shallow right turn, making her an easy target—but then Neo's finger came off the trigger as Roman flew in front of her, pursuing the F-16. It ruined her shot, but she was more than happy to let her lover finish off the annoying little bitch in the Viper.

* * *

Ruby glanced behind her. Not only had the F-22 gotten in behind her, Roman had turned her own trick against her, also pulling a hard turn and ending up directly behind _Crescent Rose_. The only good thing was that only one of them could take a shot at a time, but now she was totally defensive—and Weiss was nowhere to be seen. Ruby hoped she wasn't dead.

"Little Red, don't make me _chase_ you." Roman's voice sounded in her earphones, taunting.

"Roman, you dumbass!" Ruby yelled back. "There's a shitload of GRIMM headed towards us! They'll kill you too!" She broke right as his nose winked with cannon fire, sending twenty millimeter shells her way. "You don't stand to get anything out of this!"

"You're asking the wrong questions, Red!" Roman replied, staying with her in the break. Ruby could not cheat the turn too hard, or Neo's F-22 would be on her next. "It's not what I have to gain, it's what I have to lose! I'm a gambling man, but even I know there's some bets you just don't take."

Ruby dived for the ground; her F-16 didn't perform any better than the F-5 at low level, but the heat of the ground would throw off Roman's Sidewinders. Maybe. "Like it or not, the people I'm allied with are going to change this world. You can't stop them any more than I can." Ruby noted a tinge of regret in Roman's voice, but that didn't stop him from closing the range, reaching out with the cannon. She weaved as little fireballs skipped past her canopy. "So if you can't beat 'em…well, you know the rest." Roman made a minute change with the stick, putting the gunsight pipper ahead of the F-16, letting Ruby fly right into his guns. It was still a deflection shot, but it would be enough. He cleared his tail as a matter of habit with a quick glance behind.

His tail was clear. Neo's was not. "Neo! Break right!" Roman shouted.

* * *

Neo had been intent on watching Roman exterminate Ruby Rose—too intent. She'd forgotten the sky around her. It was a rookie mistake: lose sight, lose the fight, but even veterans could get target-fixated. And Neo suddenly realized she'd done exactly that.

Weiss roared back into the fight. One engine was out, wrecked by Neo's cannon shells, but the Typhoon was twin-engined, and could fly on one. Her performance was degraded, but once Weiss had pulled herself out of the dive, looking around frantically and expecting the Raptor to be there to finish her off, she'd realized she was alone. A long turn, compensating for the dead engine, and she saw the dogfight now in front of her. Roman and Ruby were too close together for a missile shot, but the F-22 was in range, and Weiss realized the pilot was not paying attention to the sky around her. "DUST," she snarled. "Target F-22, AMRAAM." The DUST system locked on, slaving two AMRAAM to the trigger, and Weiss pulled it twice. Two dropped from the fuselage missile wells and shot towards the F-22.

Neo's eyes widened as she saw the missiles coming towards her. She was already breaking right before Roman even finished his sentence, trying to throw off the missiles, dropping chaff behind her. It worked—partially. One missile flew past, fooled by the chaff and the F-22's stealth design. The other almost did, but detonated behind the F-22, getting just enough of a radar return to realize its target was nearby. Fragments shredded the twin tails, and the Raptor fluttered and nearly fell out of the sky.

* * *

"_Neo!"_ Roman yelled in terror. But there was nothing he could do: if he broke off to help her, he'd be sandwiched in between the F-16 and the Typhoon. He couldn't even watch to see what happened, not with the trees less than a hundred feet below, as Ruby got even lower, trying to scrape him off her tail by luring him into the trees. Hating himself, Roman left Neo on her own, behind him.

* * *

Neo's instrument panel had lit up with several warning lights. One engine was damaged and a fire light was on; she hit the fire extinguisher and tried to turn into the Typhoon, but the controls were mushy; Neo realized in horror that the rudders were damaged.

There was nothing wrong with Weiss' rudders. She rolled in behind the F-22, and selected guns. The Raptor was trying to dodge, trying to use its thrust vectoring, but all that succeeded in doing was slowing it down even more. Weiss compensated, centered the gunsight on the Raptor's broad back, and opened fire. Shells chopped into the red spine, and flames erupted from the holes as fuel caught fire.

"Fuck!" Neo shouted. She leaned back in the seat, kept her legs as steady as possible, reached between her legs, and pulled the yellow handle. The canopy blew off and she was shot free of the Raptor, even as it began to descend. It exploded before it hit the trees.

Neo was knocked out by the force of the ejection, but she came to after only seconds. She twisted around as the seat separated from her and her parachute opened. The Typhoon was already past, leaving a skein of black smoke behind it. Neo let loose with a flood of obscenity, more angry at herself than the person who shot her down. As she tucked up her legs to avoid breaking them against the trees, she hoped that Roman would be all right, and avenge her. "Cinder's going to be _so_ pissed," she sighed as the forest rushed up towards her.

* * *

Ruby made a slight turn to the left, once more barely dodging Roman's cannon fire, and found herself over the interstate. She turned back to the right: if Roman's shells missed her, they would go into the road below, packed with cars and trucks. It also put her back into Roman's gunsight.

"Oh, well done," he snarled. "You want to be a hero, huh? Well, then play the part, Little Red, and fucking _die_ like one!" He saw one of his cannon shells hit the top of her tail.

* * *

_Task Force Gagnon_

_Near JRB Beacon Front Gate_

_1545 Local_

The good news was that Gagnon's appeal to patriotism had worked: they'd covered the six miles on the frontage road to the exit for Beacon in less than ten minutes, even accounting for weaving around stopped traffic. The bad news was, once Ballew had made the turn onto the base access road, he'd run into another solid mass of traffic of people trying to get back onto the base, or off of it. Ahead, the gate was still closed, with the security police yelling at people to turn around and leave.

"Oh, to hell with this!" Gagnon shouted. "Ballew, pull over to the side!" The corporal did as asked, pulling the truck onto the shoulder. He opened the partition to the truck bed. "Grab your kit and abandon the truck! We'll go in on foot!"

Oobleck was out first, dropping nimbly to the road and running up to Gagnon. "Follow me, Major! They'll let me on—" He turned towards the sound of jet engines. "That's odd. They're very low."

Gagnon's men were piling out of the truck, and he realized they were perfect targets. "That's because they're going to strafe our ass!" He unslung his assault rifle. Small arms could be just as lethal as missiles at low level, which was why fighter pilots not flying A-10s avoided getting low as much as possible—all it took was a single bullet through the canopy to kill the pilot, and even high speed was not necessarily a savior. "Everyone down!" he shouted, and knelt, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. There was no point in running; he might as well stand his ground.

Oobleck was still standing, heedless of his safety and more curious than afraid. He made out the red panels on the F-16. "That's Lieutenant Rose," he said to himself. As she came towards them, he could see the F-5 behind her, the nose flashing as it fired.

Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck was nothing if not a quick study. "Major!" he yelled. "Let the F-16 go and open fire on the F-5!"

"Open fire!" Gagnon shouted. His men raised their assault rifles; Ballew braced the troop's M240 on the top of the cab and pulled the trigger. Oobleck's mouth opened in horror as he saw the Delta Force men firing on Ruby.

* * *

Roman saw that they were nearly back over Beacon, which meant he could expect Ruby to get more help presently. With the runways clear of White Fang and the airspace temporarily free of fighters, Beacon could surge everything they had left. Then again, they'd have their hands full with the GRIMM, which would be their priority. Adam Taurus was probably fighting his private war with his ex-girlfriend, the lovestruck fool, and that would draw a fighter or two over his way. Roman knew his best chance was to disengage, and in the confusion, fly off and see if he could find where Neo went down. Hopefully she'd been able to eject over the White Fang. If not, he'd land nearby and find her; the F-5 could land on a stretch of road if necessary, and he'd noticed some straight stretches east of the base earlier.

But he was going to kill Little Red first, and Roman saw his opportunity to do so. Ruby was flying towards an outcropping of rocks that sat on the west perimeter of the base. If she turned to either side, he'd stitch cannon shells from her canopy to her tail; if she climbed, he'd pop her with a Sidewinder—the hot F-16 against a cold sky. And she couldn't get any lower without hitting the trees. "Sorry, Little Red!" he shouted. "It's over! As for me, I'll do what I do best! Lie, cheat, steal and survive!" Ruby began to climb to avoid the rocks and went over the front gate of the base, and he switched to Sidewinders.

Then the F-5 shuddered with several hits, the sound like rocks hitting a tin roof. Fire warning lights lit up all over the instrument panel, and he heard the engines seize and begin to wind down. Something had hit him, and abruptly, Roman knew what it was. _Small arms,_ he thought. _Son of a bitch._

He pulled back on the stick to get some altitude before he bailed out, but the controls froze, the cables cut by the hail of bullets from below. The F-5 was headed directly for the outcropping. Roman relaxed. There was nothing he could do.

"Well, _shit_," was Roman Torchwick's last words.

* * *

Oobleck turned as the smoking F-5 smashed into the side of the outcropping and exploded. He watched the F-16 climb into the clouds. "Well done, Major!" he said to Gagnon. "I thought you were firing on the F-16, but instead you led the F-5 perfectly."

Gagnon lowered the assault rifle. "We're Delta, Professor. We _can_ shoot. Now if you don't mind…"

"Certainly! Follow me, gentlemen—and you too, Peter."

Port grinned and gave Oobleck two fingers, straight up in the air.

* * *

_Over Joint Base Beacon_

_1540 Hours Local_

Blake turned in her straps as the Moonslice flew past her F-14. _Don't,_ Blake warned herself. _Don't fight the way he fights. The Moonslice is designed to fight close in, using its forward swept wings and low stall speed. You get into a close-range fight with him, and Adam will kill you. You've seen him do it a hundred times. _She hauled back on the stick and climbed, straining against the Gs to keep Adam in sight. He was coming back around. _Come on, you lunatic. Come up here and fight me in the vertical._

But he didn't. He began circling. "This could've been our day, Blake," he radioed. "Can't you see that? Are you that blind now?"

She was being baited again, Blake knew. And just like last time, she couldn't help but answer him. "I never wanted this, Adam! I wanted equality! I wanted peace!" She rolled and dived, keeping her speed up. If Adam wouldn't fight on her terms, she'd make slashing attacks at him, using the kinetic energy built up in dives to climb away. Sooner or later, she'd shoot him down, or he'd run out of gas. The F-14 could stay over Beacon all day; the Moonslice, she knew, had short legs when it came to range.

* * *

"Dammit," Yang murmured. She'd lost Weiss and Ruby in the clouds, then noticed that Blake was no longer with her. Yang turned _Ember Celica_ around, saw the dogfight between the weird forward-swept winged fighter and the F-14, and switched on her radar. She held her fire. The AMRAAM was a superb missile, but it also had a tendency to home in on anything in front of it: if she fired into the melee between Adam and Blake, it was odds-on which one she'd shoot down. Yang reached forward and turned off her radar. _Maybe I can sneak up on him._

* * *

"What you want is impossible, Blake," Adam answered.

She fired a Sidewinder at him. The Moonslice skidded and dropped flares, and the missile was decoyed off. As she roared past, he took a shot at her with his cannon, but _Gambol Shroud_ was too fast. She lost a little energy in dodging them, but shot back into the sky. "Must we keep doing this?" he sighed. "I understand, Blake, I really do. All I want is you, Blake."

"Oh, fuck you." She rolled out again, checked her range, then saw him fire an AMRAAM at her. Blake dived again, dropping chaff; Adam had fired just within the missile's minimum range, and it failed to guide. She didn't bother firing this time, knowing she wouldn't hit, and climbed away. She knew the aircraft she was fighting: the Moonslice also couldn't carry a lot of weaponry. He probably had one or two missiles left, and that was it. If he ran out, she could pop him at long range.

Then Blake looked out of her canopy, directly into his: he was climbing as well. She could see the white helmet with its red highlights, the tailored black flight suit. "You know, Blake," he said conversationally, "we should stop meeting like this."

* * *

Yang looked up as she came back around, having flown behind and below both aircraft. Now they were slowing down. Climbing into that was liable to end in a midair collision, and she would rather not lose _Ember Celica_ by smashing it into Blake's ex. "Come on, you two," she said. "Give me an opening."

* * *

Blake snapped open the speedbrake between the Tomcat's tails. Her aircraft slowed, forcing Adam out front, but then she saw his speedbrakes open, even his flaps drop. "Dammit!" she shouted, knowing she was now playing his game again—her stall speed was much higher. She shut the speedbrake, let _Gambol Shroud_ fall over on its right wing, and dived, slamming the throttle forward—the Moonslice might have her in low-speed fighting, but the F-14 could easily outdistance the Moonslice. Then Blake snapped back the throttle and turned hard to the left, popping flares.

If he'd anticipated her trying to slow down in the vertical, she'd anticipated his next move. Adam had turned, rolled, and set up for a Sidewinder shot into _Gambol Shroud's_ glowing afterburners. By the sudden turn and the flares, he'd missed. _Now he'll try to get me into a scissors, slow me down, and gun me,_ Blake grinned savagely under the mask. She turned back to the right, glanced upwards, saw the fighter closing in, and climbed away, just as Yang had when they'd had their mock dogfight. "Got you," she said under the mask.

* * *

Yang saw her opportunity as Blake suddenly climbed. "Smooth move, Blakey!" Yang shouted. Adam was left turning in place, and he was level and slow for a second, which was all she needed. Yang racked the F-15 into a hard turn and selected guns. She'd promised Blake she'd gun Adam down, and Yang intended to make good on her promise.

* * *

Blake rolled _Gambol Shroud_, shedding more speed, forcing Adam out front again, and switched back to Sidewinders even as Adam realized his mistake and turned. It threw off her shot, but his desperate break to the left meant she could still drop in behind him. A quick movement of the thumb went to guns.

"Blake, break off!" Yang yelled. "I've got the son of a bitch! I'm going to blast him in the face!"

"Yang?" Blake said. She'd been so determined to get Adam that she'd forgotten her wingmate. Now she saw the F-15 charging in, closing the range—Yang was also going for a gun pass, head-on. "Yang, _no!"_ She leveled out: if she went after Adam, she was liable to collide with Yang.

Adam checked the mirrors in the bow of the canopy, saw that Blake was out of position, then rolled and dived as Yang opened fire. She kept her speed up, knowing that her shot was ruined now too, but so was his as he dived out of the fight.

Except Adam hadn't dived out of the fight. He rolled again, coming out of the dive before it barely began, then hauled back on the stick, skidding the Moonslice and pulling its nose upwards. A conventional aircraft would've stalled as the airspeed bled off, but the forward swept wings kept the Moonslice in the air and allowed it to remain controllable. As the F-15 flashed by less than two hundred feet away, Adam pulled the trigger. Cannon shells hit the nose, the cockpit, both intakes, the conformal fuel tanks, and the engines as _Ember Celica_ went past.

* * *

"Fuck, I'm hit," Yang radioed. She moved the stick to break away from the fight, see how bad her aircraft was wounded, but for some reason, the stick didn't move. Her right hand wasn't even on it. Yang looked down, curious.

Her right hand was lying on her right foot, atop the rudder pedal. That made no sense. Then she looked over and saw that her right arm was gone below the elbow. There was wind whistling past her helmet, and detachedly she noted that a shell had come through the nose, through the side console, and exited out the canopy. It had also blown off her arm. As she watched, blood pumped from the stump, coating the remains of the console and spraying over the legs of her flight suit. Yang blinked. There was no pain.

Slowly, she gazed at the instrument panel. _Ember Celica_ was dying, and in her helmet, she could hear Blake screaming that the F-15 was on fire. _Fire,_ Yang thought blurrily, _I should probably get out._ She moved her left arm from the throttle, over to the ejection handle in the center of the seat, wondered idly if she should grab her hand before she left, and pulled the handle. "G'bye, Ember," she whispered. "Sorry."

Then, as the seat fired, Yang mercifully lost consciousness.

* * *

"_YANG!"_ Blake screamed. She fired an AMRAAM at Adam, more or less ballistically, to keep him away. The F-15 was a mass of flames from the canopy back, and it would explode at any second. The canopy came off and she saw Yang eject. _Ember Celica_ saved its pilot one last time: it simply fell into the woods below without blowing up in midair.

Blake divided her attention between Adam's Moonslice, dodging the hasty missile shot, and Yang's seat. A parachute blossomed over her friend, and Blake, praying Adam didn't have time for a missile shot of his own, slowed down. There was something wrong with the little figure underneath the olive drab parachute, something missing.

"Oh God," Blake gasped, and nearly vomited.

Then the missile warning receiver went off. Blake instinctively climbed, dropping countermeasures, but the receiver kept screaming at her. Blake knew there was only seconds before she would be joining Yang in a parachute, assuming Adam let her live. She punched a button, releasing _Gambol Shroud's_ decoys. It streamed behind her, the holograms projecting a F-14, but the AMRAAM ignored that. It didn't ignore the radar reflector underneath the hologram, however, homed in on it, and exploded. The Tomcat shuddered with the explosion, but a quick sweep of her instruments showed no damage had been done.

"I'm afraid that's it for me, Blake," Adam radioed. "But it does look like your friend's not doing so good…ow, that's an arm gone. Poor thing. She'll bleed out unless someone gets to her on the ground soon. And there's that nice stretch of road there…nice and straight. Nothing that a Marine couldn't handle, eh, Blake? You're carrier qualified, I'm sure."

"I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!" she shouted.

"You can certainly do that. I'm low on fuel, so I'm out of here." She saw the Moonslice turn and head northwest. "You can kill me, Blake, or you can save Yang. Which is it?" Blake saw the figure of Yang crumple next to the road, the parachute falling over her like a shroud.

Blake broke off pursuit and started heading for the road.

"I figured you'd do that," Adam sighed. "Know this, Blake: for what you did to the White Fang, and me, I'm going to kill everything you love. Starting with her. Until you come back, Blake. And you will come back, Blake. After you've finished running, you'll come back."

Then he was gone, as Blake dropped her flaps and lowered the landing gear. It was a straight enough road, and seemed in good repair—a nice two-lane highway with a passing lane, with only one car speeding away. She chopped back her speed and opened the speedbrake, and _Gambol Shroud_ touched down with a puff of smoke. She stood on the brakes, and the Tomcat rolled to a halt, only a few paces from Yang's body. Even as she raised the canopy and unstrapped, Adam's words rang in her ears.


	29. Ride Like the Wind

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Something of a "lull" chapter in this one, but I needed to get caught up with Mercury and Emerald, then Ironwood and Ozpin, and finally Yang and Blake before we get to the HUGE battle next chapter with the GRIMM, and with Pyrrha vs. Cinder._

* * *

_Building 121215 (Base Correctional Facility)_

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1530 Hours_

It had taken Mercury Black longer than he'd hoped to work his way around to Beacon's correctional facility—a nice word for jail, he thought. There were security forces everywhere, plus the odd angry shot from the retreating White Fang. But he was here. Walking in was not dramatic: he simply tucked the shotgun under his arm and opened the door.

The facility was deserted, but Mercury had half expected that. Beacon only had so many security people, and they would've been called out to fight the White Fang. He easily found his way to the stairwell leading to the downstairs cells. "Hey!" he called out. "Anyone there?"

A SF airman opened the door and looked out. Mercury thought about bluffing it out, but he didn't have that kind of time, and he honestly wanted to shoot someone. So he raised the shotgun and fired. The airman ducked back behind the door, but not in time not to get hit by shot. Mercury leapt down the stairwell, taking two steps at a time, and hit the door full force. The airman had fallen, but raised his pistol and fired twice. They were hasty shots, but both shots hit Mercury in the legs. With a scream of pain, he fell to the ground. Mercury landed hard on his right side, but lay the shotgun flat on the floor and pulled the trigger. He was close enough to touch the airman, so he could hardly miss. The shotgun blast tore into the man's chest. Mercury, gritting his teeth against the pain, leaned over and shot him a third time, in the face.

"Emerald!" he said. "You here?"

"Yeah! Mercury?" She came to the door of the cell nearest him; when the first shot went off, she'd rolled under the cell's bed. "Oh shit!" She saw him bleeding from both legs.

"Was this fucker alone?" He thumbed at the airman's body.

"Yes, I think so. The keys are on his belt." Mercury found them and tossed them through the cell door. Emerald let herself out, then ran over to the first aid kit hung on the wall. Quickly, she pulled bandages out and wrapped his legs. The right leg was broken, but the left was more or less a clean wound. She splinted the right leg as best she could, then couldn't resist kissing Mercury. "You came back for me," she said, tears in her eyes.

"Cinder's idea," Mercury replied. "We were afraid they'd make you talk." Even as he said it, he realized he was lying. That hadn't been the only reason he'd come back for Emerald.

Emerald made a face. "Well, that figures. Hope you have a car, anyway."

"Yeah. Over by the hospital."

"Can't go there; they'd recognize us both." Emerald helped him to his feet. Using her and the shotgun as a crutch, they began to slowly make their way up the stairs. Before they did, she grabbed the airman's pistol. "Where's Cinder?"

"Went to go kill that Fall Maiden chick. I think she was going to kill Ozpin, too." He stopped to get his breath halfway up the stairs. "Fuck, this hurts."

"We're not going to be able to help her very much," Emerald said.

"Yeah, well…fuck Cinder. We gotta get out of here, Emerald. She may want to die for the cause, but I damn sure don't. Bad enough I had to let that Yang bitch shoot my ass off." He looked at her. "You want to stay here and die?"

Emerald was silent for a moment, then began helping him up the stairs. "No."

* * *

_Base Headquarters_

_1535 Hours_

James Ironwood ran up the stairs, a security platoon at his back; the elevator would take too long. Base Headquarters was too quiet, and that scared him. He slammed open the doors to the top floor, Ozpin's floor, and nearly tripped over Glynda Goodwitch's legs.

"Oh my God," he breathed, and knelt next to her. Glynda was pale normally, but her skin had taken on something of a waxy, grayish tint to it. She was lying in a puddle of blood. He checked her pulse: it was weak, but still there.

Her eyes were glassy. "James?"

"I'm here. Medic!" he shouted. "Medic!" A medic quickly shouldered his way through the security men gathered around, but Glynda weakly waved him off. "Glynda, you're hit bad," Ironwood told her, thinking she was in shock.

She smiled at him. "No shit. Listen. It was Cinder, Cinder Fall. She shot me, and she shot Ozpin. Never mind me. Go check Ozpin." She looked past him, to a sergeant. "You. Put a guard around my F-22. Cinder was going for it." Then back to Ironwood. "Go check Ozpin, dammit!"

"All right." He touched her face, wished he could kiss her, and then Ironwood was up and running for Ozpin's office. Behind him, he could hear the medic going to work. Ironwood had been around enough wounds to know that Glynda had lost a lot of blood, and was conscious by sheer force of will. _She's too mean to die,_ he reassured himself, and went through Ozpin's door, which was still open.

At first he thought it was empty. Then he saw the computer, still smoking, and Ozpin's foot, sticking out from behind his desk. He ran around it, and saw his friend lying on the floor, sprawled out, blood pooled around his head. Ironwood got around the body and the wall, which was not easy for a man his size. "Oh, fucking hell. Not you, Oz. Not you."

The body stirred. Ironwood dropped down, got a hand around the shoulders. Ozpin slowly turned to look at him. There was a lot of blood, but the bullet had just grazed his temple. Head wounds always bled a lot, but as far as Ironwood could tell, Ozpin was otherwise unhurt. He couldn't help but grin. "You lucky son of a bitch."

Ozpin reached up and touched his forehead. Blood was still oozing out. "Don't feel lucky. Felt like someone hit me in the head with a hammer." He sat up, still supported by Ironwood, who grabbed Ozpin's coffee cup. The coffee inside was cold, but it washed the dried blood from his forehead. "If I hadn't turned at the last second…"

"Cinder?" Ozpin painfully nodded. "Should've shot that bitch."

"No way of knowing." Suddenly Ozpin's eyes cleared. "Glynda!"

"Cinder shot her too. She's still alive. She's a tough one."

"Help me up." Ironwood did as asked, and was surprised at how light Ozpin was. He'd gotten used to Ozpin being an iron man of sorts: the man was well into his sixties, but he barely looked fifty. Ozpin leaned against the desk. The computer was a ruin. "We activated the Fall Maiden," he told Ironwood. "Right before Cinder showed up. The President has given release authority."

"In God's name, why?" Ozpin told him about the giant GRIMM approaching Beacon. "Cinder can't use it," Ironwood told him. "It still needs the activation codes, and she doesn't have any of them."

"She has Amber's. She killed her, James. Cinder murdered Amber."

Ironwood slammed a hand into the desk. "Dammit! Salem's been one step ahead the whole time." He looked up at Ozpin. "She can't use the Fall Maiden with just Amber's code, can she?"

"She shouldn't be able to. The President has activated the Maiden, but he still needs my code and Amber's to use it. The same is true of Amber's code—it still has to have the other two codes. It's active right now, but it doesn't have a target." Ozpin sagged into his chair, his head throbbing with pain, blood still running down the side of his face. Ironwood yelled out the door for a medic. "She said Salem doesn't want control of the Maidens. She only wants to make sure they're unable to be used."

"Makes sense. Without the Maidens, she'd be hard to stop." Ironwood stepped back as the medic arrived, saw Ozpin's wound, and immediately began cleaning it. "I'm sorry I took so long, Oz. The White Fang tried to kill me in the VOQ, and then I had to organize the defense. We've pushed them back to the woods, and they're retreating to the east. Thank God someone up at Camp McCoy thought to send us some tanks. They were surging the fighters last I saw, but we've already taken some losses."

"We'll worry about that later, James." Ozpin waited until the medic had gotten the bandage on, then gently pushed the man away. "That's good enough for now."

"You've lost a lot of blood, sir—" the medic began.

"I'll be to the hospital directly. Carry on, son." The medic nodded and left the office. Ozpin picked up the phone-luckily, Cinder had not thought to destroy that—and dialed the tower. "Good to hear your voice, sir," the tower chief said. "Thought we'd lost you."

"Not yet, Chief. What's the status of that GRIMM—the Wyvern?" Ozpin put the phone on speaker.

"The first wave of fighters engaged it five minutes ago," the chief replied. "Major Nikos is commanding the second wave, our big one. The GRIMM is huge, sir. Never heard of anything like it. Crow 13 isn't sure we can stop it." There was a pause. "Got good news and bad news, sir. Good news is that the White Fang are in full retreat; base security and those two tanks from McCoy are in pursuit. The front gate told me they've just had a platoon of special forces arrive from McCoy too. All three White Fang fighters that they had over us have either been destroyed or they've hauled ass too."

"Good," Ozpin said. "The bad news?"

"Ten fighters are gone, sir; those are confirmed, anyway. Two on the ground, eight in the air. Either got shot down trying to take off or didn't make it against the Fangers."

Ozpin's fingers tightened around the phone. "Do you know who?"

"Russel Thrush, Dove Bronzewing, Sky Lark, Flynt Coal, Arslan Altan, Bolin Hori, Nebula Violette, Gwen Darcy, and Yang Xiao Long." There was a pause. "Thrush, Lark, and Coal are all right—they all bailed out and they've been picked up by the Army. Altan's F-16 got blown up by the Fang, but he's okay. Violette was badly wounded, but she's been taken to the hospital; Chief Vogelgemord called us. Hori and Darcy are KIA; they didn't get out in time. Long's MIA. We got a report she bailed out, but we've heard nothing more. Blake Belladonna is missing, but she may have landed somewhere." The chief's voice was thick with emotion. He'd gotten to know many of those names.

So had Ozpin. He looked up at Ironwood, who spoke. "Chief, this is Ironwood. Add Scarlet David and Fox Alasdair to the list. Both were wounded as well, but also off to the hospital."

"Yes, sir. Just getting to that."

"And Ciel Soleil is dead. I think she got caught when the White Fang first hit us. We found her body next to her F-15."

"Jesus God," the chief said after a moment. They'd been hit hard, and the battle wasn't even close to being over yet.

"Distance to the Wyvern?" Ozpin asked. He had to get them back on track, or there would be a lot more dead.

"Fifty miles, bearing…one-seventy-five. Altitude ten thousand. There's at least 20 Beowolves and Ursai around it."

"How many fighters do we have making the intercept?"

"19." The chief read the names: Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie, Lie Ren, Cardin Winchester, Coco Adel, Yatsuhachi Daichi, Velvet Scarlatina, Sun Wukong, Sage Ayana, Neptune Vasillas, Neon Katt and Kobalt Ivori, Reese Chloris, Nadir Shiko, Dew Gayl and Octavia Ember. "Add to that Crow 13—whoever that is—and Ruby and Weiss. The latter got two of the White Fang fighters. Weiss has been damaged, but she's still in the fight."

"Thank you, Chief. Hold on a moment." Ozpin put his hand over the receiver. "Not enough, James. They'll get through the Wyvern's escorts, but not have enough to kill it."

"Then we're screwed," Ironwood replied quietly. "The other bases—Sioux Falls and Ellsworth—have probably scrambled by now, but they're not going to get here in time. Not before the Wyvern gets to Beacon. And that assumes it stops here and doesn't go to Chicago."

"Not quite yet, James." Ozpin moved the phone to his mouth again. "Chief, I am ordering an evacuation of Beacon. I want all personnel evacuated at least ten miles distant; twenty miles if possible. That includes you, Chief. Turn over control to Regency and get out of here."

"Sir?"

"Chief, if we can't stop the Wyvern, I don't want it killing everyone on base. We can rebuild Beacon. Understand? Pass it along to the ground crews."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Ozpin smiled. The chief sounded like he held himself responsible. "Not your fault, Chief. You've done an admirable job. We'll talk to you later." Before he could hear any protests, Ozpin hung up. "James, you'll need to organize the evacuation. I'll stay here and work the phone."

Ironwood shook his head. "Like hell, Oz. What are you really up to? I know that tone of voice."

Ozpin reached over and picked up his cane. It had fallen to the carpet when Cinder had shot him. He twisted the cane's ornate head and pulled, then stripped off a thin bit of tape. On the spine of the cane was a small numeric keypad and a red button. "James, I've never told anyone this." He held up the cane. "I can control the Fall Maiden with this. I don't need Amber's code nor the President's. All I have to do is program the coordinates and hit the button."

"You…you always had it…" Ironwood stammered.

"Indeed. I came up with the concept of the Maidens, after all. I gave the briefing to all the Presidents—Kennedy, Nixon, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, and now Shawcross." He set the cane on his desk. "None of them knew that I've always had the power. If I knew exactly where Salem was, I would've already used it on her."

"You crazy bastard," Ironwood breathed. "But thank God for that." He held up a finger. "You'd better not think of sacrificing yourself, Oz."

"Not at all. But like the captain of a sinking ship, I will be the last to leave. Don't argue with me, James. Now get going. These men and women need a leader."

"All right. But I meant what I said." Ironwood turned to leave, only for the sergeant that had come with his security team to arrive at the door. "Sir…beg to report…"

"What, what?" Ironwood demanded.

"We went to the F-22, like Colonel Goodwitch asked, but—" The windows rattled with the sound of a fighter taking off in full afterburner. Ozpin turned in his chair and saw Goodwitch's camouflaged F-22 climbing hard, away from the base. Then it made a hard turn towards the west.

* * *

_Near Necedah, Wisconsin_

_1550 Hours Local_

Blake dropped down from the F-14 and rushed over to the parachute. She searched through the nylon until she found her friend's body. Yang was still unconscious, her face pale, her lips oddly curled into a smile. Blake bent close: Yang was still breathing.

The arm was the most pressing matter. Blake built the parachute up under it, careful not to touch the hideous wound with her gloved hands; Yang didn't need an infection on top of her other problems. Blood still dripped steadily from the severed arteries; the skin was ragged around the wound, the bone splintered. Reaching into her survival vest, Blake got out the tourniquet and tied it tight around Yang's arm above the elbow. She'd seen enough wounds during her time with the White Fang. Yang had lost a great amount of blood, but if she got to a hospital soon and got a transfusion, she would live. Blake tightened the tourniquet a little more, then stripped off her gloves and got out the vest's bandage. It wasn't much, but it might help a little; she tried wrapping it around the stump, taking the fishing line included in the vest to tie the bandage on.

"Hey. Is this hell?"

Blake looked up. Yang was staring at her, her eyes huge. The smile broadened. "For Satan, you sure look like Blake Belladonna."

The Faunus wiped her eyes. "Stop it." She reached up and unzipped the top of Yang's flight suit, trying to find her dogtags. "Whoa now." Yang's grin was lazy with shock. "You need to buy me dinner first."

Finally Blake pulled the tags from Yang's considerable cleavage. The tags held Yang's blood type: AB positive.

Suddenly Yang tried to reach over with her good arm. Blake slapped the hand away. "Don't touch it!"

"How bad?" She raised the stump. Blake put her hand under Yang's head and helped her look. "Weird," Yang said conversationally. "Doesn't hurt at all." She grinned up at Blake. "In fact, it's positively disarming."

"Only you could make a pun at a time like this." Blake helped her head back down, and saw Yang's eyes roll back as she passed out again. She checked her friend's pulse. It was thready. If the blood loss didn't kill her, shock might. Her skin was cooler. Blake wrapped the parachute around her, trying to make her as comfortable as possible.

She looked back at _Gambol Shroud._ She had to get Yang help. She could radio Beacon; the base wasn't far away. She had just gotten to her feet when she heard the squeal and clank of tank treads. To her surprise, the noise was followed a minute later by a M1 Abrams main battle tank, coming out of the forest, through some unfortunate farmer's fence, then grind its way onto the road further down. Blake frantically waved her hands, and was about to grab a flare when the tank commander turned and saw her. The tank groaned to a halt, then turned back in their direction. When it stopped, Blake cupped her hands to her mouth. "Help me! I've got wounded!"

"That's a Faunus!" she heard one of the tank crew say.

"Stop it!" another voice yelled. "She's one of ours!" From the loader's hatch, a figure took off his helmet, slid down the front of the turret, and jumped off. It was Flynt Coal.

"Flynt!" Blake shouted. "Get over here!" She pointed to the tank commander. "You too! Get your ass over here, that's an order."

The tank commander took off her helmet and followed Flynt. As they got closer, Blake realized that the tank commander was a captain as well.

"Holy shit," Flynt said as he got close. "Yang? What happened—oh, Jesus." He saw the severed arm.

"Got shot down. She needs a hospital, fast. She's in shock and has lost a lot of blood," Blake explained. The captain knelt quickly, inspected the wound, and straightened. "We'll radio it in," the captain said. She turned and yelled back to the tank to call in a medevac. "A helicopter can get here a lot faster than we can get her to a hospital. They're already out picking people up." She saw the look on Blake's face. "Don't worry, Captain Belladonna. We'll stay here with her until the medevac arrives."

"Thank you, Captain…Bighorn-Vlata." Blake read the nametape. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for White Fang. Sorry about the Faunus thing. Anyhow, they retreated in this direction."

"I doubt you'll find them, Captain," Blake said. "They've broken into small groups and probably changed into civilian clothes."

Bighorn-Vlata looked at her strangely, suspicion on her face. But the expression passed. "Not much point anyway. Beacon's evacuating. There's a shitload of GRIMM coming."

Flynt stood up, brushing off his flight suit. Blake noticed there were scorch marks on the fire-resistant nomex. "Got crisped a little bit," he said. "Nothing bad."

"In the ejection?" Blake asked.

"Pulling some of my tankers out of a burning tank," Bighorn-Vlata answered instead. She slapped Flynt on the back. "We've made him a honorary tanker."

"Anyway, Captain—you'd better get back in the air. We took a beating," Flynt told her. "They need all the help they can get."

Blake hesitated. She wanted to make sure Yang was going to survive, but Flynt was right. Ruby Flight was already down one person; there was no reason to be down two. "All right. Captain, if you don't mind, I need you to move your tank. I don't know if I've got enough room to turn around." She also didn't know if she had enough room to take off; the treeline looked all too close, and trees hemmed the road in on both sides.

"On it." Bighorn-Vlata went running back towards the Abrams. Flynt nodded to Blake. "We'll take care of Yang, Blake. Don't you worry, now." He pulled out his own dogtags. "AB positive too. If I have to, I'll give her some of my blood."

"Okay." Quickly, Blake went over to Yang. She was still out, her breathing shallow. Blake couldn't stop the tears from coming. "I'm sorry, Yang." She gripped her friend's remaining hand, then bent forward and kissed her forehead. "I'm so sorry." Then Blake let go, touched Flynt's shoulder in passing, and ran back to the Tomcat. It was a bit of distance from the road to the cockpit, but Blake's catlike reflexes allowed her to chin herself on the canopy frame and pull herself into the cockpit. Once inside, she hooked up everything again, put on her mask, and lowered the canopy.

The tank was out of the way, though it had left gouges in the asphalt. Blake kept her feet on the brakes as she ran the F-14 up to full power, then let off the brakes and surged forward. She had a brief glimpse of Flynt and the tank commander bending down next to Yang, and then they were past, the tank was past, and the trees were there. Blake pulled back the stick, prayed, and _Gambol Shroud_ struggled into the air. She thought she felt the fighter brush the tops of the trees, but then she was in the clear, headed southwest. Blake switched on her radar and turned west. There was indeed many contacts there.

_You always run._ Adam's voice suddenly sounded in her head, as clear as if he was sitting beside her. _You're afraid, Blake. Afraid you're going to kill someone else. Afraid someone else is going to die for you. Yang's going to die, Blake, and it's your fault. It's always your fault. No one else's. Just yours. You'll never stop running, Blake. _

"No!" Blake exclaimed, bringing a fist down on her knee hard enough to leave a bruise. "I'm not going to run!" Her left hand tightened on the throttle, willed it to move forward. But her hand wouldn't budge. The old fear, the old panic, blossomed in her chest like a black flower, and the fear sweat broke out on her forehead. Tears began to run over her oxygen mask. "Move," Blake moaned. "Please move." But she was frozen in utter terror.

* * *

_Beacon Intercept Package_

_Near Cashton, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1550 Hours Local_

"Formation spread," Pyrrha ordered. She looked at the radar screen below her HUD. The smaller GRIMM were staying close to their charge, which her radar was starting to get a return off of; this Wyvern might be stealthy, but its sheer size guaranteed a radar return of some kind. Neon, Cardin, and Crow 13—who had identified himself as Ruby and Yang's uncle Qrow—were already engaged. "Push it up," she ordered next. They had to close the distance, intercept the GRIMM as far out from Beacon as possible.

"Pyrrha, Beacon Tower."

"Pyrrha, go."

"Pyrrha, you have a F-22 coming up behind you. That aircraft is a bandit, repeat, that F-22 is _not_ friendly. It's Witch Lead's aircraft, but we have reason to believe it has been stolen, possibly by Major Fall. Major Fall is now considered an enemy combatant. Do you understand, Pyrrha?"

_That's not good,_ Pyrrha thought. Cinder Fall had proven herself a good pilot at Vytal Flag. She was an Eagle Driver, but the controls of a F-22 and a F-15 were not so dissimilar. She was a threat, and the intercept force could not afford to be hit from behind while trying to stop the GRIMM, nor could they afford to be distracted, looking over their shoulder as the Raptor tore through their formation. "Understood. All Beacon aircraft, Beacon tower, go to channel base plus two." Everyone switched from the standard radio channel to the more discreet Channel Three. They hadn't set a base before they'd taken off, but the agreed upon default was always Channel One. Pyrrha just hoped Cinder didn't remember that.

"All Beacon aircraft, we're turning you over to Regency. We're going off the air now. Good luck." The tower signed off.

Pyrrha came to a decision. Cinder was a good pilot; in the F-22, she would be a formidable one. There was only one person left at Beacon who could take Cinder, and it was her. Goodwitch could have done it, but Glynda Goodwitch was missing, possibly dead. It was simple fact. "Crow 13, Pyrrha," she radioed.

"Crow 13, go."

"Take over command of intercept package. I'm going after Creamer Lead. Did you hear Beacon's last transmission?"

"Roger that. I have command." Qrow outranked her in any case, by seniority, and had been present in the area the longest. "Go get her, Pyrrha."

Pyrrha turned the F-16 hard, and saw Jaune's Mirage also turning. "Jaune, stay where you are."

"Juniper Flight's coming with—"

"Negative," Pyrrha snapped. "You're needed against the GRIMM."

"But—"

"There's no time!" Pyrrha shouted. "That's an order!"

"Pyrrha, you can't do this! Pyrrha, I won't let you do this—"

"I'm sorry," Pyrrha said, then reached over and switched off her radio. She pushed the throttle into afterburners, and headed back towards Beacon.


	30. Shoot to Kill

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A final battle so big it had to be spread over two chapters. Sorry about the cliffhanger. Because I'm sure you don't want to wait four days to find out what happens to the cast, especially Pyrrha, I'll be posting the next chapter either tomorrow or Saturday._

* * *

_Near Trempeleau, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_1555 Local_

Cardin Winchester prided himself on never really having been scared in his flying career. Well, there had been that time he and Cardinal Flight had dueled an enraged Pyrrha Nikos, but even then, deep down, he'd known it was a simulation.

Today was different, however. Cardin was not only scared, he was terrified, and he was quite surprised to find himself still alive. In the space of less than an hour, he'd seen his flight wiped out aside from himself, nearly been killed by a SAM fired by his own side, and then barely evaded a F-22 that seemed to be more toying with him than anything else. It had finally broken away after a wild chase down the Mississippi River valley, but once he was sure it was gone, he'd climbed back up to something resembling safe altitude, taken some deep gulps of oxygen, surprised himself by discovering he _hadn't_ wet his pants, and gotten the vector to engage the GRIMM approaching Beacon. GRIMM—stupid drones that didn't make him feel like deer being hunted by a wolf—sounded like just what the doctor ordered to get revenge for Cardinal Flight.

This was something new, however. Beowolves and Ursai were like old friends, almost. The monster Wyvern that brought up the rear was something else entirely. Short of a nuke—and they certainly didn't have anything like that—he didn't see how they were going to stop it.

"Cardin, this is Crow 13. Is that you at my three o'clock high? Waggle your wings."

Cardin did so, and caught movement against the forest. It was a F-117. He had no idea what one was doing here, but at least it was friendly. He hoped. "Crow 13, are you in the Nighthawk?"

"That's a rog. Neon, you out here?"

"Roger that!" Neon Katt's ebuillence was good to hear, but both men heard the tinge of rage in her voice. "We're trailing the big bastard at 40 miles. We worked our way behind it. The GRIMM didn't seem to notice us until we got within 20 miles. Soon as we backed off, they didn't pursue."

"Yeah, sounds like they're programmed to maintain close escort. Good; we can use that." Cardin watched the F-117 begin to climb. "Cardin, Neon: I'm going high. Neon, continue to trail. Cardin, circle east and join up with Interception Package Alpha. Pyrrha has command. I'll try to find you guys some weak spots."

Cardin acknowledged after Neon did, and circled around. He checked his fuel gauge. Half tanks, but that was still plenty. Luckily the F-15 was built for long engagements. He saw the cloud of fighters coming up from Beacon, and beyond them, the specks and flashes of a dogfight. He wondered who those were, but that was someone else's problem. Normally, he might have chafed at being under Pyrrha's command, but now issues of who led who seemed rather secondary. He saw the gray Mirage F.1 of Emerald Sustrai, followed by the blue F-2A of Yatsuhachi Daichi and, to his surprise, the gray Jaguar of Ruth Lionheart. "Yatsu, Cardin. Is that Coffee Flight?"

"Cardin, Coco," came the feminine voice. "Yeah, it's us. I'm borrowing Emerald's Mirage; that's Velvet in the Jag."

"Mind if I join up?" Then he remembered how he'd treated Velvet Scarlatina; he wondered if joining up with Coffee was such a great idea after all.

"More the merrier. You're now Coffee Four." Cardin realized he'd been informally demoted, but like being led into combat by Pyrrha Nikos, it seemed rather pedestrian to be concerned. In the distance, he could still see the fires where Cardinal Flight had been shot down.

* * *

Jaune watched Pyrrha's F-16 disappear into the clouds. He began turning again, but Qrow's voice stopped him. "Hold formation, Juniper Lead. Ruby Flight, come in. We need you to backstop Pyrrha." There was a pause. "Ruby Flight, this is Crow 13. Come in." Another pause. "Beacon Tower, contact Ruby Flight. They may not have heard the channel call." Beacon Tower acknowledged. "Juniper, we need you right here. Pyrrha will be along. Stand by to engage." Qrow's voice was calm, and Jaune took strength from it, beside himself with worry for Pyrrha.

Then there was no more time to worry, because they passed through a bank of clouds, and there were the GRIMM. A veritable cloud of GRIMM were in front, but it was the monster behind that seemed to fill the horizon. One part of Jaune knew that was impossible, but it certainly seemed so, and he had some kind of deep ancestral memory surface, of being prey in a deep French forest, hunted by something bigger and more cunning than he was.

* * *

"Crow 13 to all Beacon elements. We're going to hit the merge with the GRIMM in a few seconds. Engage with close-range weapons only; save your big stuff for the Wyvern if you can. Neon, engage with Phoenixes now. You should distract the GRIMM. Coffee, Sun Flights: engage the GRIMM, clear the way for Auburn and Juniper to engage the Wyvern. Dew, Octavia, attach yourself to Auburn. Reese, you're in command." Qrow didn't really know any of the girls from Auburn or Indigo Flights; he only knew Reese Chloris because she flew that ancient Hunter.

He saw the Phoenixes arrive—the Beowolves and Ursai were out of position, out in front of the Wyvern, Neon and Kobalt's F-14 out of detection range. One Phoenix slammed into the Wyvern, and the other exploded just short. For a wild moment, Qrow thought the giant GRIMM had some sort of force field, but then saw turrets appear the length of the ship, and realized it was very much an upscaled Nevermore. Two Ursai peeled off to engage the new threat to the rear. "Coffee and Sun, go!"

Then Qrow dived on the Ursai as he saw the Tomcat roaring in, wings swept. The Ursai never detected him, the F-117's stealth making him practically invisible to their radar. He opened the weapons bay and fired his last two Sidewinders at one Ursai. Both tracked and the GRIMM exploded. The remaining Ursai's computer brain acknowledged the attack from behind, couldn't find a target as it turned to engage, and confused, went straight and level as its CPU tried to figure out what was going on. It joined the other Ursai seconds later as Neon emptied her cannon into it as she swept by. As Qrow climbed back into position above the Wyvern, Kobalt locked the F-14's radar onto the Wyvern—at this range, it wasn't hard, stealth or no—and Neon fired her two AMRAAM, then broke off as the rear turrets swiveled in her direction, climbing away and overtaking the F-117. Both AMRAAM hit, but the Wyvern flew on without noticeable damage.

* * *

_Near Viroqua, Wisconsin, United States of Canada_

_14 May 2001_

_1555 Hours Local_

Cinder Fall checked her fuel and smiled. Glynda Goodwitch had apparently made sure her F-22 was fully fueled and rearmed. She kept her speed down nonetheless: Watts had informed her that fueling arrangements were being made at Torchwick's former base at Mountain Glenn, but she couldn't count on that. She would probably have to land at Hector, and then probably move on to one of the boltholes in the Pacific Northwest that even Sienna Khan wasn't aware of. It was going to be a very long day, but it was going to be a very profitable one. She'd already killed Goodwitch and Ozpin, which would make Salem happy, and now she was going to ensure the giant GRIMM made it to Beacon and beyond. Cinder knew Salem intended to raze the base to the ground, which she thought was a bit petty—Beacon, without aircraft, was no threat, and an attack on Chicago would do far more to destablize the United States of Canada than an attack on Beacon would. She climbed slightly, positioning herself in the scattered clouds; by now, she had to assume someone at Beacon knew there was a wolf coming into the sheep herd. Still, there would be hesitation and fear.

Her Radar Warning Receiver abruptly shrilled for her attention. Cinder's eyes went to the threat display, which showed a radar-guided missile headed her way at Mach 3. She slammed the stick to one side with her right hand, dropping chaff behind her as Cinder broke hard to the right. The Raptor's sudden maneuver and the chaff cloud caused the AMRAAM to miss and explode behind her. Cinder blew through a cloud, rainwater appearing and dissipating off her canopy in a second, and she craned her head to see her attacker, switching on her radar at the same time.

Then she saw it: a F-16, in the two shades of light gray camouflage of the Hellenic Air Force. _Nikos,_ she thought. _ Well, well._ A quick scan of the sky and the RWR showed no other threats: Pyrrha was alone, offering mortal combat as the old days, when knights and samurai would ride out to do battle between the lines. Cinder smiled beneath her mask: there was something rather appealing to that, actually. And she could kill Pyrrha and still disrupt the Beacon interception of the GRIMM.

She tightened her turn a little, as did Pyrrha. The two women stared out of each other's canopies as they made a close pass. Cinder was wearing Glynda's purple helmet, but she was quite sure Pyrrha was not fooled. In the split second they looked at each other, the contract was sealed: one of them was going to die.

Cinder moved first. She racked the F-22 into an extremely tight left turn, using the Raptor's thrust vectoring to cheat the turn even tighter.

* * *

Pyrrha saw the tailplanes of the Raptor move and knew that Cinder was going to turn in behind her. _She wants to end this quick,_ Pyrrha thought, pushing the thoughts of Jaune out of her head; she could afford no distractions now. Her F-16 was outclassed in every category by the F-22, and she already knew Cinder was a superb pilot. This would be the fight of her life.

But she still might have one advantage.

Pyrrha pushed the throttle forward and engaged the afterburner, going into a hard climb as Cinder got in behind her, then throttling back slightly and throwing in a few rolls. One finger rested on the countermeasures button: _Milo_ was now an excellent target for a Sidewinder shot, hot aircraft against cold sky, and Cinder could simply slow down, or even simply point her nose upwards and fire a missile. Pyrrha watched the mirrors in her canopy frame.

Cinder followed her into the climb and closed the distance. Despite herself, Pyrrha smiled, because now she knew her opponent's weakness: Cinder was going for a guns kill, to finish her in the old way, and make it personal. Cinder Fall was overconfident and cocky, and that was the one advantage Pyrrha Nikos had.

Pyrrha waited for an agonizing second, then suddenly throttled back even further, almost to a stall, and let the F-16 fall over onto its right wing, then drop out of the sky. The F-22 shot past, and Pyrrha once more pushed the throttle forward, speeding up, gaining space. Cinder might want to duel like it was World War I, but Pyrrha had no such intentions: she was going to blow Cinder out of the sky with a missile if she got the chance. A quick look behind her, and then she came out of the dive back into level flight, and turned back into Cinder.

"_Skata,_" she cursed. _She's so fast!_ The F-22 was already out of its climb, twisting around, diving on Pyrrha. The two went head-on again, missing each other by only feet, feeling the others jetwash. A scream escaped from Pyrrha's lips as she went hard left into a horrific 9-G turn, trying to make the turn—but once more, the Raptor's ability to thrust vector left her coming out of the turn with Cinder right behind her.

* * *

_Near Sparta, Wisconsin_

_1600 Hours Local_

Cardin stayed loosely on Velvet's wing as they went in, his radar alive with returns. The range spiraled down. _This is it,_ he thought, a cold sweat breaking out, _the merge._ The merge was where a lot of fighter pilots died, in that sudden collision when both sides were in range and opened fire. Qrow had said to hold fire, engage with short-range weapons only, but Cardin couldn't take any more waiting, with the GRIMM bearing down, the closing rate nearly the speed of sound. He locked up two Beowolves and fired. Two AMRAAM dropped from the F-15's fuselage and bored in, destroying both targets.

"Here we go!" Coco yelled to no one in particular, and then Cardin tried to get smaller in his cockpit, throwing the big fighter around as cannon shells and one missile flew past, and at least one Beowulf passed so close he was sure he could've reached out of the canopy and touched it. Then he was through, and the Wyvern was in front. Cardin unloaded both of his remaining AMRAAMs at it, then turned away into a hard left turn, coming back around. He couldn't tell if either of his missiles struck.

"Cardin, check six!" someone yelled; it sounded like Jaune. "You've picked two of them up!" Cardin kicked the tail around, and saw the two GRIMM bearing down. There were no expressions on the drones, of course, but he could have sworn they looked downright pissed. One fired a missile, and he decoyed it off with a flare. Another missile spiraled towards him; Cardin hit the countermeasures button, but nothing happened; he had used up all his flares getting away from the red F-22. He rolled and dived, and somehow the missile missed. The GRIMM were still on him—one was, Cardin corrected himself, as he saw one vanish in an explosion. The other stayed on the F-15's tail as if it was tied to it. "Bastard's on me tight!" Cardin shouted, in his fear forgetting about his callsign. The Beowolf came closer, and now the fireballs of cannon shells skipped across Cardin's wings.

"Cardin, Jaune! Level out and drag him!"

Sure he was about to die, Cardin did as asked. Then the Beowolf blew up, and Cardin saw the Mirage 2000 sweep past. He'd never seen something so beautiful in his life. "Thanks, Jauney!"

* * *

_Near Viola, Wisconsin_

_1605 Hours Local_

Cinder found herself breathing hard into the oxygen mask. She knew Pyrrha was a good pilot, probably the best at Beacon—besides herself, of course—but already this battle had gone on a little longer than she thought it would, and it needed to end. The Immelmann out of the climb had been a nice touch, but Cinder had outmaneuvered her opponent again, and put the gunsight over the middle of the F-16. "Goodbye, Nikos," she said, and pulled the trigger.

As the first round left the 25 millimeter gun in the Raptor's starboard side, the speedbrakes on either side of the F-16's tail suddenly split open, and then it seemed to disappear out of her gunsight as Pyrrha did another turn. Cinder overshot, and worse, lost sight of her opponent. She strained against her harness, dipping the wing, trying to see where Pyrrha went, but she was gone—and Cinder had a feeling where she was. She dived for the forest below, and finally spotted the F-16: behind the twin, canted tails of the Raptor.

Pyrrha had pulled in her speedbrakes and accelerated, thankful her trick had worked, and knowing the measure of her opponent now. Often, a fighter pilot's personality could be seen in how they flew: Yang was aggressive to a fault, Blake liked to hang back, Sage Ayana loved the speed his F-104 could give him. Cinder was something of a bully, Pyrrha had noticed back at Beacon, and if she wasn't as bad as Cardin Winchester, her attitude showed up in the way she flew: Cinder liked to crowd her opponents. It also made her prone to overshooting—and now, finally, Pyrrha had the shot she'd been angling for since the beginning of the combat, an eternal three minutes ago. A Sidewinder shot from her right wingtip and guided towards the Raptor.

Then Cinder showed her mastery of her craft. The F-22, already barely above the trees, suddenly turned hard, dropping flares; the Sidewinder, confused by the flares, the heat from the ground below, and the F-22's ducted exhausts, missed and blew up in the forest. Worse, the Raptor was vectoring around again, forcing Pyrrha into the overshoot.

Pyrrha climbed, hating the fact that she had to, but hitting the ground was not going to win the battle either. She quickly glanced behind, knowing the Raptor was dropping in behind her, but saw Cinder was not closing in this time: she'd learned. Pyrrha turned, rolled and dived, leaving flares in her wake.

* * *

"God_dammit!"_ Cinder shouted, as her Sidewinder went merrily away, chasing a flare. She threw the Raptor to one side, trying to follow Pyrrha into the dive. This time she wasn't going to overshoot, at least.

To her horror, she saw the F-16 come out of its dive, seem to skid in midair, and fire a Sidewinder at her head-on. Cinder's eyes widened in terror, and her hand pulled the stick back and she climbed hard. She felt the detonation of the Sidewinder; her hasty reaction had saved her. _How is she _doing _this?_ Cinder screamed silently. _She's not human! _

For the first time in her life, Cinder Fall wondered if she was going to lose. The F-16 accelerated after her into the climb, closing for the kill.

* * *

_Near Tomah, Wisconsin_

_1605 Hours Local_

Sun Wukong led Sun Flight into the swarm of GRIMM. The flight split up; there were simply so many bandits that it would be impossible to keep flight integrity in a furball like this. The GRIMM broke up as well, as the drones chose their own targets. Sun looked forward out of the windscreen, as an Ursa came right at him.

Sun smiled. "Okay, buddy, what's on your mind?" He kept on course. A sentient opponent would have broken away, but no one knew if the GRIMM had a self-preservation algorithm. Nonetheless, Sun held his Ching Kuo for as long as he dared, then fired a Sidewinder and dived underneath as the Ursa opened fire. A single Sidewinder was normally not enough to destroy an Ursa outright, but this one struck the GRIMM right in the nose and blew it apart.

"Sage here, going in!" Sun rolled out and saw the F-104 streak past the GRIMM, moisture shockwaves erupting for a moment. Sage ran up the F-104 to twice the speed of sound and fired both of his Sparrows at the Wyvern, keeping his radar on the huge GRIMM as the distance closed in seconds. Both Sparrows hit, and fire and smoke erupted from the Wyvern's leading edge. Sage let out a war whoop as his supersonic shockwave buffeted even the Wyvern, and was gone to the west. It would take awhile for him to slow down and turn around, but he had hit and done the first real damage to the main target.

Sun laughed as he saw Sage score his hits. He looked for more targets, and fastened on the tail of a Beowolf. As he lined up to fire, it suddenly burst into flame and went down in a terminal dive. He saw a Mirage go by, wearing the two shades of gray of the Egyptian Air Force: Nadir Shiko. "Nadir, splash one!" she called out exuberantly. The Mirage pulled up, and suddenly it was on fire. "_Allah akhbar!"_ she yelled in Arabic, then switched back to English for the Fighter Pilot's Prayer: "Oh shit!"

"Nadir, you're on fire!" Sun yelled. "Get out of it!" He saw the Beowulf that had hit her; it had come in behind both of them. Sun cursed himself for not watching the sky around them; it could be him on fire. "Get out of it!" he repeated. As the Mirage stalled, Nadir ejected. Sun opened his speedbrake and slowed, forcing the Beowulf to overshoot, and dispatched it with a Sidewinder. A beeper filled the airwaves for a second, then was shut off almost immediately: Nadir had survived the ejection, though she had escaped into a sky alive with missile trails, gunfire, aircraft, and GRIMM.

* * *

Coco lost all three of her flight in the merge, the flight going to all angles, but there was no time to call them back together. She only had Sidewinders loaded, but that was enough.

Ever since Coco had climbed into Emerald's Mirage F.1 back at Beacon, her attention had been drawn to a red button in the upper left side of the instrument panel. It was unmarked, but it was surrounded by cross-hatched red and orange paint. Coco knew the Mirage better than any lover, and that button was not there on any Mirage F.1 she'd ever flown. Now seemed like as good time as any to see what it did. Hoping it wasn't some sort of self-destruct, which would be slightly embarrassing, she punched the button.

Nothing happened. Coco shrugged and spotted a Beowulf trying to get in behind Reese's Hunter, which was going straight for the Wyvern. Her Sidewinders might not do much, but the Hunter's quad heavy cannon were a different story. Coco slid in behind the Beowulf, checked her mirrors to clear her tail, and saw an Ursa go past. She got ready to break, but the Ursa continued on, looking for a target elsewhere. Her RWR was silent. She quickly blasted the Beowulf off Reese's tail—kill number 15, she made a mental note—and edged ahead of the Hunter. "Reese, Coco. Let me go in first, due some flak suppression."

"Thanks, Coco!"

The Mirage closed in on the Wyvern. There were at least four turrets on her flight path that she could see, but none turned in her direction. _Ah ha! I knew it! _That's_ why I never saw Emerald behind me in the exercise! It's some sort of radar jamming device!_ She took advantage of it, whatever technology it was, and strafed the Wyvern, knocking out a few of the turrets with her cannon. Reese did the same, getting a few more, pounding the giant GRIMM with her own guns.

The radar jammer wasn't infallible, however. As Coco climbed, rolled out over the Wyvern, then dived down for another run, no less than four Beowolves attached themselves to her. Their missiles went wide, unable to "see" the Mirage, but that just made the GRIMM close in with their guns. She couldn't see Reese anywhere. "Coco here. I got four on my ass."

"Coco, Velvet. I'm on your Beowolves."

Coco came out of her dive at full speed, abandoning her run on the Wyvern, trying to get away. Then she saw the Jaguar. Velvet blew away one Beowulf with a Sidewinder, then a second as the formation scattered. One turned back into her, firing its cannon, but the Faunus simply evaded the shells, and then the Beowulf was on its back, burning as the Jaguar's cannon chopped through it. A fourth tried to reacquire Coco, only to be hit in a 90-degree deflection shot with yet another Sidewinder from Velvet, and finally she dispatched a fifth with her last shot. Coco's mouth dropped open. Velvet had five kills going into this fight; she'd just doubled her score in less than two minutes. _"Lionheart!"_ Velvet shouted as she swept past her last opponent, unable to resist punching a fist in the air.

Then Coco saw the Ursa coming in behind the Jaguar. The fighter wobbled as a cannon shell punched through the wing. "Velvet, break left! Ursa!" Coco yelled. The Jaguar pulled hard left, but the Ursa followed her through the turn. Coco was out of position, coming out of the climb she'd gone into to evade the GRIMM.

A smoke trail shot under the Mirage and blew the wing off the Ursa. It went into a spiral and disappeared into the woods below.

"Thank you, whoever that was," Velvet called out.

"Velvet, Weiss. You're welcome." They saw the Typhoon join the fight, then the red-trimmed F-16. Ruby Flight—what was left of it—had arrived.

And still the Wyvern flew on, making a slight turn to the southeast. Beacon was only fifteen miles away.


	31. Fire in the Sky

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: The second half of the climax of the Battle of Beacon. This one was rough to write, and will probably be rough to read. In war, there is always sacrifice._

* * *

_Near Oakdale, Wisconsin_

_1610 Hours Local_

Nora Valkyrie hated to admit to herself, but she was having a grand old time.

Her A-10 was not designed for dogfighting: it was designed to kill tanks and ground-based GRIMM. It was slow, though at low level quite maneuverable, but the Warthog was simply no fighter. That was fine with Nora. She'd broken off from Juniper Flight and gotten down in the weeds, flying just above the treetops. GRIMM that dived away from the main dogfight suddenly found themselves ambushed. Nora's A-10 had been loaded at Beacon with four Sidewinders and two 20 millimeter gunpods; she'd expended the missiles for three kills.

But that was the small fry. As the Wyvern overtook her, Nora was going for the big one. She hadn't fired the titanic GAU-8 30mm gatling cannon she literally sat on, and no A-10 pilot thought a day was complete without tearing something apart with the gun. As the shadow of the huge GRIMM passed over her, Nora grinned. "Fe fi fo fum!" Then she hauled the stick back and climbed.

Though it did not seem like it, the Wyvern had been damaged. One of the systems that was hit was some of its detection gear, and it did not noticed the A-10 until it climbed, moving out of the radar's ground clutter. Turrets irised open and began firing at Nora.

Ren had somehow managed to keep an eye on Nora and still fight the battle around him. He'd gotten two, and managed to flush some of the GRIMM towards his girlfriend. Now he saw her in the shadow of the Wyvern, beginning her run. "Nora, Ren, watch it! Heavy fire!" He rolled his J-10 over and dived.

"No shit!" Nora yelled back, but she was through: the safest place in the battle right now was just below the Wyvern, where its ventral turrets could not bear. She braced herself and opened fire with the 30mm. The heavy, depleted uranium rounds pounded the Wyvern, breaching armor and knocking out a brace of turrets. She had to take her finger off the trigger for a moment, dive a little, then climb again and march more rounds down the GRIMM's length.

The Wyvern's electronic brain recognized that this enemy was its greatest threat. Two Ursai suddenly broke away from pursuing Reese Chloris' Hunter and dived beneath the Wyvern to attack Nora. She saw the first one coming towards her, turned into the attack, and used her gunpods this time. The Ursa exploded under the hail of shells. The second one, however, got in behind her. Nora dived and twisted away. She could ignore a Beowulf's small cannon, but the Ursa armed a heavier weapon almost equal to her GAU-8. She ducked as two shells skimmed over her canopy, and tried a break, but the Ursai was in a good position.

It also didn't notice Ren. He rolled in behind the Ursa. His remaining Sidewinder growled, but he couldn't be sure if it was tracking the Ursa or the A-10. "Nora, Ren. I've got your bandit. Break right on three. Two. One. Now."

The A-10 snaprolled to the right, and Ren fired. The Sidewinder tracked perfectly and hit the GRIMM, which shuddered; he finished it off with the cannon. Ren climbed, gave Nora a quick check, and climbed back into the fight.

"Ren, Nora. I'm making a run on the Wyvern," Jaune radioed. "Cover me?" He made it a question, which for some reason Ren found to be highly amusing.

"We're with you, boss! Nora's in!" Nora climbed and rolled in, this time on the top of the Wyvern. Her run this time was across its buried fuselage, where the cockpit would be if the GRIMM was piloted. Sparks and flames shot back from it as she came off her run. "Nora's off, north to south!"

"Jaune's in," Jaune called out. "Cover me, Ren!"

"Following you down," Ren replied. They were too close for missiles, but the heavier cannon on the Mirage and the J-10—though not as devastating as Nora's—were still effective. The Wyvern, reacting with the digital equivalent of panic, rolled its upper turrets around and opened fire. Its fire control had been damaged by Nora's run, so instead of leading its attackers, it fired wildly. Jaune was missed entirely, but the sheer amount of gunfire meant that someone was going to be hit.

That someone was Ren. The J-10 was hammered from nose to tail, and Ren gasped as he felt something hit him in the leg. He climbed hard, jinking to throw off any more fire, but the J-10's movements were slow.

"Ren!" Nora screamed; she'd seen the J-10 get hit, and saw him climb away, trailing smoke. "Ren!" She climbed to get alongside him.

"I'm…okay…" he gritted out. He checked his instrument panel. There were a number of warning lights on, but no fire. He reached into his survival vest with one hand, still flying with the right, and somehow got a bandage out. The blood was soaking through his flight suit.

Nora could hear the pain in his voice, and saw the hole in the canopy. One canard was a ragged hunk of metal, and there were holes throughout the aircraft and wings. She rose up a little more as they leveled out, trying to see if Ren himself was hurt. So concerned was Nora for her lover that she did not pay attention to the sky around her.

The Wyvern was still tracking her, and dispatched another Ursa and two Beowolves to kill the A-10. "Ren, Nora!" Jaune warned. "Check six, GRIMM!" He locked onto the trailing Beowolf and destroyed it with his last missile, but the other two got a clean run at the rest of Juniper Flight. Ren heard the warning, dropped the bandage, and broke left and down, but Nora was too slow. The Beowolf went after Ren, but the Ursa's cannon chopped into the A-10. One engine flamed and came apart, a flap tore away from the starboard wing, and two more shells hit around the cockpit. The heavy armored bathtub that surrounded the cockpit saved Nora's life, but the A-10 staggered. She coughed as she breathed smoke through the oxygen mask, and dived; her onboard oxygen system had been hit. The Ursa turned back for another run, while Ren had to level out or lose the wings. The Beowulf came back for the kill as Jaune hit the afterburner, trying to get in close enough to use his guns.

Then the Beowulf vanished in an explosion. A second later, so did the Ursa.

"Ren, Nora. You're clear. Sorry I'm late." Blake Belladonna flew past Juniper, _Gambol Shroud's_ wings raked back.

* * *

Qrow dipped the wing of his F-117. The ground below and behind the Wyvern was dotted with burning remains—aircraft and GRIMM. Luckily, it was far more of the latter than the former. The Wyvern had launched yet more Beowolves, but even it seemed to have exhausted what it had, and fewer and fewer GRIMM were still operational.

That was the good news. The bad news was that nothing seemed to be able to stop the Wyvern. It was holed in places, and there was thin smoke curling behind it, but it was inexorably heading towards Beacon. Assuming it would even stop there. Beacon's defenders were simply running out of ammunition.

"Regency, Crow 13. Have you heard from Beacon?" he radioed the AWACS. "Is the evac complete?"

"Crow 13, Regency. Relay from Jehovah." _Ironwood,_ Qrow thought. "Base personnel are mostly evacuated. Jehovah advises that there is a major traffic jam south of the base at Mauston through Wisconsin Dells."

"Fuck," Qrow said, without keying the radio. GRIMM were programmed to attack any large concentration of people; no one knew exactly how the drones knew, though it was suspected it was through simple infrared detection: a lot of people gave off a lot of heat. A lot of _scared_ people gave off even more heat. Qrow had seen the turrets on the Wyvern: after it got done razing Beacon, assuming that was its actual target, it would tear into the people fleeing south. And after that? Chicago and Milwaukee lay beyond. By then, the reinforcements from Ellsworth and Sioux Falls would be there—they were charging hard from the east—but Qrow wondered if even that would be enough.

"Crow 13, Beacon." Qrow hadn't expected to hear anything else from Beacon Tower; the tower crew had long since been ordered to evacuate. Then he recognized the voice. "Oz?"

"The same. I'm in the tower. Tally-ho on the Wyvern."

"Oz, you'd better get clear," Qrow warned. "We can't stop this SOB."

"I can. All Beacon aircraft, this is Captain Ozpin in the clear. Break off the attack on the Wyvern and retreat to ten miles, I say again, one-zero miles from Beacon. Authentication code is April, time is 2110 hours Zulu."

"Oz—"

"Crow 13, all Beacon elements, that is an order. Ozpin out."

His mouth dry, Qrow knew what Ozpin was going to do. "Oz, no! Don't do it!" As the aircraft broke away from the Wyvern, following Ozpin's orders, Qrow climbed and headed for Beacon.

* * *

"Ren, Nora, this is Jaune. You okay? You gonna make it?"

Nora coughed, but now that she was lower, she could take off her mask. "Dammit! Twice!" She checked the controls. Other than the tendency to pull towards the dead engine, she was still flying. "I'm tactical." She punched off the gunpods; no point in keeping them now.

"Ren here. I'm hit, but I'll survive." Somehow, managing to fly the airplane at the same time, he found the bandage near the throttle and got it over his leg. It wasn't perfect, but at least he wasn't going to bleed to death now. He hoped. He checked his navigation display. "Suggest we divert to La Crosse."

"Roger that."

Ren heard the tone of Jaune's voice. "Jaune. Go after her." They all knew who Ren referred to.

"Wilco." Jaune's Mirage 2000 turned hard to the south, and engaged its afterburner.

* * *

Ruby flew up next to Weiss. Somehow, despite being on one engine, Weiss had bagged three GRIMM. Ruby had only managed one, despite firing three missiles; another she'd put into the Wyvern, for all the good that had done. Her cannon was empty as well. She still had one AMRAAM left. "You doing okay, Weiss?"

"I'm good. I'll need to divert to La Crosse as well."

Ruby spotted the Mirage going south. "Jaune, Ruby. What's up?"

"Pyrrha's fighting Cinder. I'm on my way."

Ruby checked her fuel. It was still good. "Jaune, Ruby. Joining up." He did not acknowledge, continuing to streak away. She looked over at Weiss, who pointed south. Ruby nodded and headed out after Jaune.

"Ruby, Blake, hold on—" Blake called out.

"No time!" Ruby yelled back.

* * *

_Near Hillsboro, Wisconsin_

_1610 Hours Local_

Pyrrha could feel the sweat pouring down her sides and back, and her breaths in her mask were ragged. The skid had put an incredible strain on her aircraft and her body, and in theory was more than the Fighting Falcon airframe could handle. But there were always things a pilot could do that the designers claimed wasn't possible.

As she climbed to follow Cinder, Pyrrha knew she'd rattled her opponent. Cinder's actions were not panicky, but it was clear that the other woman was now thinking more about survival and getting away, not her mission or killing Pyrrha. She'd gotten into Cinder's head, and Pyrrha intended to stay there.

She briefly considered edging backwards a bit, dropping some speed and letting Cinder get into AMRAAM parameters, but that would give her opponent too much room. Pyrrha was out of Sidewinders; this was going to have to be done with the gun. She throttled up: the F-16 was so light that it was one of the few aircraft that could accelerate in a climb. The gunsight crept onto the broad back of the Raptor, and Pyrrha let it creep further upwards: she would lead Cinder, open fire in front of her, let her enemy fly into a hail of cannon shells. If one should kill Cinder Fall, that was the fortunes of war, and for the first time since Crete, Pyrrha felt no regret over killing someone.

* * *

Cinder swore that she could feel the gunsight crawling up her back, knowing she was seconds from death, that Pyrrha Nikos was going to kill her. There was one chance left. Cinder pulled the stick as far back as it would go, dropped her speed nearly to idle, and vectored the F-22's thrust upwards.

The effect was the same as a car suddenly slamming on its brakes. The Raptor flipped backwards, rolling within its own length, falling back towards Pyrrha and risking both their deaths in a midair collision. Cinder fought down nausea as bile rose in her throat, and was pressed back in her seat—but when the F-22 ceased its tumbling, it was now behind the F-16, its exhaust half-filling her windscreen. Cinder's finger tightened on the trigger.

* * *

"Oh my God!" Pyrrha shouted, and barely dodged the F-22, rolling aside. In a split-second of horror, she'd forgotten the Raptor could do that. She flung the F-16 to one side, trying to dodge the attack that was coming.

She was a fraction too late. The 25mm cannon shells tore through _Milo's_ engine and left wing before Pyrrha's break caused the rest to miss, but it was enough.

Pyrrha heard her engine die, and the aircraft began to shudder and rattle as the wingtip separated from the F-16. The stall warning screamed in her ears and fire lights came on. The horizon slipped past and the Wisconsin forest filled her canopy. There was the briefest of thoughts, first of Jaune, then of riding the aircraft down. But that made no sense: _Milo_ was dead, but she was alive, and unhurt: she could fight again.

"So much for the Invincible Girl," she sighed, braced herself, and pulled the ejection handle. The canopy separated, flying backwards to smash itself against the tail, and then Pyrrha felt rather than saw herself leave the aircraft. It was a clean ejection, mainly because the F-16 was no longer going particularly fast, and she rode the seat a few thousand feet before it automatically separated. Her parachute opened above her, and Pyrrha quickly checked herself. Her limbs were intact and her back felt fine, so there had been no spinal compression or flail wounds. She watched sadly as her beloved _Milo_ fell into the woods and exploded.

Then she looked up. The F-22 was coming back around.

* * *

Cinder got her breath back, did a quick circle to ensure the aircraft hadn't been damaged, then saw Pyrrha's parachute. She thought for a moment: Pyrrha Nikos had been a fine opponent, the best she'd ever faced, and the chivalrous thing to do might be a quick flypast, a salute to an honorable enemy.

But Cinder Fall was not chivalrous. That had been burned out of her a long time ago. Pyrrha Nikos was too dangerous to live. She had been chosen to be Amber's successor, and that alone made her a threat. She felt a pang of sorrow, but Cinder swung around and centered the gunsight on the little dot under the parachute. "It's unfortunate you were promised a power that was never truly yours," Cinder sighed. She glanced at the little black box on her right wrist. "But take comfort in knowing I'm going to use it in ways you never imagined."

Pyrrha saw the F-22 getting bigger, its nose pointed directly at her. She had the wild thought of drawing her Beretta and taking a shot at it, but there was no point in it. She was going to die. She smiled at her own death. It made sense. She'd killed the air pirates in their parachutes over Crete, and now she would share their fate. Karma.

"Do you believe in destiny?" Her words to Jaune came to her lips. She did not close her eyes. Pyrrha faced her demise head on and waited for the cannon shell to end her life.

Then suddenly the F-22 broke away, sparks flying from its wing, fragments falling away from it as it dived away. A Mirage 2000, resplendent in blue and gray, roared past, cannons blazing.

"_Jaune?!"_ Pyrrha exclaimed.

* * *

_Near Mauston, Wisconsin_

_1610 Hours Local_

James Ironwood held Glynda Goodwitch's hand. It was cold and limp. IV lines ran to her arms, pumping blood in, and an oxygen mask lay over her face. Her skin was waxy. He looked up at the medic, who already knew the question. He shrugged.

The flap to the tent came open, admitting Major Jacob Gagnon. "General? You'd better come listen to this."

Ironwood gave Goodwitch's hand a squeeze, and he left the aid tent. It had been set up by a National Guard unit coming up from Wisconsin Dells, and the wounded in the hospital at Beacon had been transferred here. A landing zone had been established in the woods, and as Ironwood followed Gagnon, he saw a UH-60 there, rotors turning, as a stretcher was brought out of the helicopter. A flash of blond hair and a flight suit: it was Yang Xiao Long. Two medics held IV bottles above her as well, and the four stretcher bearers ran towards the tent. Then they were gone, and Ironwood continued on after Gagnon.

The area around them was chaos. This had always been a chokepoint for Interstate 90 as long as Ironwood had visited Beacon, where the woods and the low ridges shoved the four-lane interstate towards the Wisconsin River gorge. Now all four lanes were choked with people trying to get away. News of the Wyvern, even sight of it in the distance, had spread quickly; in its wake came panic. No traffic was moving on the interstate. Ironwood had ordered all military personnel except his remaining security police off the road, setting up a new command post in the woods. Even as he watched, people were starting to get out of their cars and run down the median, dragging luggage and children behind them, ignoring the security forces' calls to stay calm.

Ironwood ducked into the command post, a tent set up between four armored personnel carriers. A soldier he didn't recognize was at the radio, and handed a headset to Ironwood. "It's on the air channel, General," the radioman explained.

Ironwood listened and his eyes widened. "Oh my God." He reached across the radioman and switched the set to transmit. "Ozpin! This is Ironwood! I know what you're doing and I'm ordering you not to!" There was only static. "Come in, dammit! Ozpin!" When there was still no reply, he slammed the headset down and ran out of the command post, immediately looking to the north.

His cellphone began to buzz. Ironwood pulled it out of his pocket, looking at it strangely; he'd put it in his pocket just before the White Fang had attacked, and completely forgotten it was there. The number was unlisted. He opened the phone. "Hello?"

"James."

"Ozpin! Thank God. Where are you?"

"At the tower." Ozpin sounded matter-of-fact. "Listen. How far away are the refugees?"

"Most of them have made it to Mauston, but there's still a few stragglers—"

"And the base?"

"Completely evacuated. I thought you were already out. Someone even broke out Emerald Sustrai; I think it was one of Cinder—"

"That doesn't matter now." Ozpin's voice became tired. "Remember what I said about the Fall Maiden, James? Where I have control of it? Well, I didn't tell you the good part." He chuckled. "I have to hook it to a satellite communications rig. My cane can't actually talk to the Maiden satellite. It just so happens that the only one close is at Beacon Tower." Ironwood heard Ozpin doing something in the background. "Uplink should be complete about the same time the Wyvern is overhead."

"Oz, no. No. You're going to call in the strike on top of yourself. You can't. For the love of God, you can't."

"For the love of God, I have to, James."

Ironwood felt the unfamiliar sting of tears. "Ozpin, please…"

"I'm sorry, James. Thank you for being my friend. Please find Oscar. Tell him about me, all right? Tell him I'm proud of him."

"I can't—"

"You will. Goodbye, James." The line clicked off.

* * *

_Near Hillsboro, Wisconsin_

_1615 Hours Local_

Jaune stayed on the F-22 as it reversed its turn and stayed at low level. He'd hurt the Raptor—it wasn't trailing smoke, but it was definitely wounded. He fired again, thought he saw some strikes, and then suddenly the fighter went straight and level and slowed. He shed some speed himself and got in behind it; it remained in level flight. He didn't think he'd hit the cockpit, but maybe he had. It was even starting to lose a little altitude. His cannon were empty anyway, so he selected a Sidewinder—his last—and lined up.

His finger had tightened on the trigger when suddenly the Raptor broke to one side, so fast it left him in shock for a moment. Jaune twisted around in his seat, and broke left.

* * *

Cinder saw the Mirage overshoot and smiled. _Jaune Arc. Pyrrha taught you well, but not good enough._ As he broke left, she simply turned back into him, noticed the controls of the F-22 were a bit sluggish, and fired an AMRAAM. She was a bit close for the shot, but it was all she had left, besides a few cannon shells, and she was saving those for Pyrrha.

Jaune cut the turn tighter, hearing the RWR screaming that he was locked on. He strained against gravity, urging _Crocea Mors_ to turn harder. He dropped chaff, but the AMRAAM ignored it. The missile cut across the turn.

"Dammit, Pyrrha," Jaune said. The missile impacted behind the cockpit, and the Mirage vanished in an explosion.

* * *

"_JAUNE!"_ Pyrrha screamed. She strained to see if there was an ejection, or a parachute, or anything. There was nothing. "_Oh, God, no!"_

The Raptor came around again. This time Pyrrha did pull her pistol and began firing it, even though it was far out of range. She cried, screaming unintelligibly, no longer caring if she died. "Kill me, you bitch!" Pyrrha howled. "_Kill me!_" Then she saw the wink of sunlight off a canopy above and to the left. A quick look—it was another F-16, one with red wingtips. "Ruby, _no! _She'll kill you too!"

* * *

Ruby saw the fireball that had been Jaune Arc. The F-22 came around in a lazy turn, the nose pointed at the parachute. Ruby frantically looked for options, but there weren't any. Her cannon was empty; she was too close for her one remaining missile, and by the time she got into the parameters to use the AMRAAM, Pyrrha would be dead.

She had one weapon left: her airplane.

"Sorry, Crescent," she said, and dived, aiming for the Raptor. It was an impossible attempt, to ram the other fighter—the Raptor was bigger and flying slow, but it was almost like trying to hit a bullet with another bullet. And yet, Ruby knew she could. Her eyesight narrowed to the gray cruciform shape of the F-22.

* * *

Cinder did a few twitches of the stick as she turned and climbed away from Jaune Arc's funeral pyre. There was definitely something wrong with her aircraft. It was now even more sluggish, and a quick look behind showed that her tails and tailplanes had been hit with cannon fire. Jaune had gotten his shots in after all. Still, it was flyable as long as she didn't need to do any sudden maneuvering—and killing a mostly stationary target like Pyrrha Nikos wouldn't require any.

Then Cinder caught movement at three o'clock high. It was a F-16, out of the sun, growing bigger and bigger. Cinder pushed the stick to one side to break into it, but the Raptor merely went into a gentle turn, as if she was landing at Beacon on a cloudless, easy day.

It was then that Cinder realized the F-16 wasn't stopping.

The collision was soundless, the noise muffled by her helmet and the canopy, most of the noise left behind her. Ruby wasn't suicidal, and had aimed her strike to lead with _Crescent Rose's_ left wingtip. The F-16's wing crashed through the junction of the F-22's right wing with the fuselage. _Crescent Rose's_ wing was sheared off, tearing away to take off most of the tail, while the Raptor's right wing folded upwards and over the fighter's back. Both instantly went into spins, while the F-22 burst into flames.

Cinder knew she had to bail out. She braced herself, cursing, and ejected. The force of ejecting from a spinning aircraft caused her left arm to come off the side of the seat and hit the canopy frame, snapping it instantly. Then the F-22 exploded as the fire reached its remaining missiles, and the fireball roared after Cinder. She almost cleared it, but as the seat separated, the flames reached her. The nomex flight suit protected most of her, but the fire found other fuel—the rubber hose and mask, and Cinder's hair that hung out of one side of her helmet.

Cinder felt pure agony as the flames crawled under the helmet, caught the mask on fire, and scorched her skin. She reached up with her good arm and tore the mask away, but her skin was blistering, she could see the flames in her left eye, she must not scream, she told herself, she must not scream—

But then it was too much, and Cinder _did_ scream. And the fire found something else to burn.

* * *

Ruby let her fighter do two revolutions, waiting for the horizon and the forest below stop swapping places, and pulled the ejection handle. Nothing happened. Mouth dry, she pulled again. This time she felt the seat fire, but as she ejected, the seat hit the canopy, which hadn't separated clean from the fuselage. Whether or not Ruby had succeeded she never knew, because the world went suddenly and completely black.

* * *

_Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin_

_1620 Hours_

The Wyvern seemed to slow as it reached Wyvern, barely doing 150 miles an hour. Ozpin watched it from the windows of the tower, and drank one last cup of coffee. "So that's what you were working on, Salem. That's your big stick. Well, I have one too, my love."

He set the mug down reluctantly, sat down in the deserted control tower, and picked up his cane with his left hand. In his right, he took out the dogeared picture of Salem. "We didn't have to do this, Salem," he sighed. "It never should've come to this. I still love you. Oddly enough, I think you still love me." The tower grew dark as the Wyvern blotted out the sun. Ozpin kissed the picture, looked up, and smiled.

And hit the red button on the cane.

Seventy miles above Alabama, retrothrusters fired on the Fall Maiden. It was a rather plain looking satellite, for all the world resembling a communications satellite, which was the intent. While on its trip over eastern Africa, it had gotten the arming notification. Small explosive bolts blew off the nose of the satellite, exposing the long tungsten rods. As it slowed, its own targeting sensors came online, and received the coordinates it was meant to open fire on. The Maiden rotated downwards, and as it reached the southern border of Wisconsin, lined up on the coordinates, and fired five times, its preprogrammed engagement package.

The five rods, each one twenty feet long, were ejected into the atmosphere, where a combination of their own propulsion from the satellite and gravity accelerated the rods to fifteen times the speed of sound. Their passage through the atmosphere left brief lines of white-hot trails behind them. They were still acclerating when they hit the Wyvern ten seconds later.

All five lanced through the giant GRIMM, tearing through armor, fuel cells, and ammunition like tissue paper before burying themselves across Joint Base Beacon. There was no explosion from the rods, as they carried no warhead, but just their passage sent tons of earth rocketing into the air like a meteor strike.

Explosions ran the length of the Wyvern as the magazines touched off and spread. The GRIMM seemed to hesitate, it shuddered and dipped downwards, then went up in an explosion so powerful that shockwaves flattened buildings around the base, caused trees to snap off at their base three miles away, and was enough to buffet and send people to their knees as far as Ironwood's position at Mauston. Qrow dived hard to escape the shockwave, and barely succeeded. The remains of the Wyvern crashed into Beacon; it would burn for five days until nothing was left.

The body of Captain Oscar Ozpin, United States Navy, was never found.


	32. Cold Dark World

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: More like a warning. This is by far the most depressing chapter I've written for this fanfic. But our heroines just got hit pretty bad, and they're not just going to spring back. Not even Ruby. Just remember, though: it's always darkest before the dawn._

* * *

_Eisenhower Armed Forces Medical Center_

_Augusta, Georgia, United States of Canada_

_18 May 2001_

Ruby Rose had the oddest sensation: she could actually feel her body coming awake. It started at her toes and fingers, which twitched a little, then spread up her body, returning feeling to her brain before it reached her eyes. She slowly opened them. Something felt nice and fluffy under her head, warm over her body, and soft beneath it, but there was an antiseptic smell she couldn't quite place.

As her eyes came open and she looked around, she saw an unfamiliar ceiling and walls, then the hospital bed she was in, and the machines next to it that gave her vital signs. An IV bag was placed over her and tubes snaked down to her arm, and under the covers to places she really didn't want to think about. Then her eyes focused on the other person in the room. "Dad?"

Taiyang Xiao Long was sprawled in a chair, asleep. Though retired from the USAF now, he still wore his blond hair short. He was also still proud that, despite pushing forty, he still wore the same size as he had while on active duty—if anything, hard work around the farm at Patch had added bulk and muscle to him. Yet Ruby knew that her father was one of the most gentle men in the world, a single dad who had managed to raise two rough-and-tumble daughters after one wife had deserted him, and another had disappeared. "Dad?" Ruby repeated. Her throat was dry, scratchy.

Tai stirred, blinked, then sat up straight so fast he nearly fell out of the chair. "Ruby?" He got out of the chair and crossed to her side, taking her hands in his. "Oh God, Ruby!"

She smiled weakly. "Hey, Daddy."

"My little girl." He kissed her forehead. Ruby sat up a little straighter, and felt pain encircle her head like a band. "Ow." As he scooted his chair up to the bedside, she looked around again. "Where am I?"

"Eisenhower Military Hospital in Georgia. It was as close as I could get you and Yang to home-among other reasons."

"Oh, that makes…" Her voice trailed off as she realized what he'd said. "Wait, why's Yang here?"

Tai hesitated, then asked her, "What do you remember last, Ruby?"

Ruby knew she was being deflected, but went along with it for now. "Oh, well…let's see…after the big dogfight with the Wyvern, we got the order from Ozpin to get away from it for some reason…figured maybe they were going to hit it with cruise missiles or something. Anyway, then I got there right after that Cinder chick had shot down Pyrrha and Jaune…she was going to gun Pyrrha in her 'chute, and all I had left was an AMRAAM. So I, uh…" Ruby laughed. "I rammed her, Dad. Don't know how I managed to do it, but I did. Took the wing off my bird…didn't see what it did to her. The last thing I remember is ejecting, and then everything went kinda dark. And here I am." She winced as a little tendril of pain made its way up her back. "I've been out for awhile, huh?"

"Four days. Combat SAR found you hanging from a tree. They think you hit the canopy on the way out."

Ruby whistled softly. "Pulled a Goose, huh? How come I'm not dead?"

"You probably just grazed it. Your helmet took the worst of it; leastways you've got a huge gash in it. You had a severe concussion and a cracked skull. Just a hairline crack, though. No swelling, so you don't have any brain damage—no more than you did already, anyway."

"Oh, _thanks,_ Dad," Ruby grumped, though she was smiling.

He gently ruffled her hair. "Good thing you inherited having a thick skull from me and your mom."

"True." She folded her arms and looked at her father. "So. What's going on with Yang?"

"Yang." Tai sighed, and couldn't meet his youngest daughter's eyes. "Well, she's still alive."

"That's a plus. What's the problem, Dad? You almost sound like Yang being alive is a bad thing."

Tai did finally face her. "She lost her arm, Ruby. Her right arm, at the elbow. That Marine of yours—Blake—she said that it got taken off by a twenty mike-mike shell. Yang nearly bled out. Luckily, Blake landed her F-14 somehow and got a tourniquet on her before the Army picked her up." He wiped his eyes. "She almost died. Came really close to dying from shock. We had her transferred here in the same medevac as you. She'll make a full recovery, but…" Tai bit his lip. "She's not the same, Ruby."

"Can I see her?"

"I'll ask the doc." He got up, but Ruby grabbed his hand. "Blake and Weiss?" she asked.

Tai sighed again. "They're both fine, but…they're gone. Weiss got recalled back to Germany. Maybe it's only temporary; the Germans want to know what the hell happened at Beacon. Blake…I don't know where she is. She's disappeared. She made sure that you and Yang got on the medevac at Madison, but after that…I don't know."

Ruby closed her eyes. At least her flight was alive. That was something, at least. "What about Pyrrha and Jaune? Are they okay?" She saw the look on his face and gripped his hand harder. "Tell me, Dad. Give it to me straight."

"I wouldn't do it any other way, Ruby." Tai took a breath. "Jaune Arc is dead. He wasn't able to get out. I guess they recovered some…some remains…"

Ruby covered her eyes with her free hand. She couldn't believe it, she didn't _want_ to believe it. Jaune Arc. Gawky, loveable, silly Jaune. Her first friend at Vytal Flag. He couldn't be dead. You didn't kill people like Jaune. No, he was probably wandering around the woods of Wisconsin aimlessly somewhere. Ruby nodded to herself. Her dad was wrong. Jaune was alive.

"Pyrrha Nikos is all right," Tai continued. "In fact, she's here. It made more sense to quarantine all of you here—"

"Quarantine? We get infected with something?" Ruby interrupted.

"For the court of inquiry. The shit hit the fan, Ruby. President Shawcross had to admit the US has orbital weapons. The world's outraged. Congress is thinking about impeaching him—don't think that'll go anywhere, but that tells you the shitstorm the Battle of Beacon stirred up. Secretary of Defense Terasoma resigned, and Congress intends to rake him over the coals when they have their investigation. There's a good portion of Wisconsin that's just a disaster area. Beacon's gone. There's nothing left."

Ruby's eyes widened. "Oh shit! Zwei!"

Tai winked and smiled. "Zwei's okay. He's at home—Mrs. Mallari is housesitting right now. Just before Jim Ironwood left the base, Zwei came running towards him, barking his head off. The General grabbed him and put him in a Humvee. Zwei found Yang in the hospital and wouldn't leave either one of you until you got here. He'd still be here if the hospital allowed it. He's a good doggie."

"Whew." At least Zwei was all right. "But if Beacon—"

Now it was Tai who got a bit misty-eyed. "Ozpin's dead, Ruby. That Wyvern thing fell on top of the control tower. There's nothing left of either of them." He patted her hand. "That's enough for now, kiddo. Let me check with the docs if it's okay for you to move around and see Yang. And Pyrrha, too."

* * *

_Air Test and Evaluation Squadron 4 (VX-4) Headquarters_

_Naval Air Station Patuxent River, Maryland, United States of Canada_

_18 May 2001_

"Captain Blake Belladonna, reporting as ordered, sir." Blake came to attention the required number of paces from the commander's desk. She was dressed in crisp khakis, the creases so sharp she could cut someone with them. Her medals and wings were aligned perfectly. The only thing that wasn't regulation was the ribbon in her hair.

Commander Nolan Malikov motioned her to a seat. "Good afternoon, Captain." Blake took a seat, and sat practically at attention. Malikov seemed nervous, she thought. He ran his hands through his short hair, over the small horns curving back from his forehead, then shuffled the papers in front of him. "Sorry you were confined to quarters after you got here, Captain Belladonna. Truth to tell, we weren't sure what to do with you."

"I understand, Commander." After the destruction of Beacon, Blake had landed at La Crosse just long enough to take on fuel. Then she'd flown the short hop to Madison, to make sure both Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long were loaded onto the medical evacuation aircraft. Both of her friends were unconscious; both had looked dead. She knew they weren't, but their appearance was enough to frighten her. Once that was done, she had gotten in _Gambol Shroud_ and flown east, unsure of what to do or where to go. Since technically she was still assigned to VX-4, she had landed at Patuxent River, on the edge of the Maryland Dead Zone, and reported to Commander Malikov. Since Malikov hadn't been sure what Blake's status was now, he confined her to quarters and called for instructions. In the confusion after the fall of Beacon, it had apparently taken this long to find out what to do with her.

"Well, here's the deal," Malikov began. "You've been ordered to report to Eisenhower Medical Center at Augusta, Georgia. There's going to be a joint inquiry into what happened at Beacon." He tapped the papers on his desk; she saw it was the report she had written. While confined, Blake had nothing better to do, and writing helped keep the self-loathing at bay. For awhile, anyway.

Blake could not help but swallow nervously. _I can't go there,_ she thought in terror. _I can't see them…I can't see Yang. It's my fault she's there. And if I go there, what's to stop Adam from coming after us there? _No one knew what had happened after Beacon. Moonslice had last been seen heading northwest, and though the news had reported the White Fang attack, and confirmed the death of Roman Torchwick—the one good thing that had come out of the entire debacle—there had been nothing on Sienna Khan or anyone else. That meant that the White Fang not captured or killed at Beacon had made a clean getaway, which meant that every moment she spent anywhere endangered someone else. But what choice did she have? To disobey a direct order was to get court-martialed. She would never fly again. And how long before she simply ran back to the White Fang, just as Adam predicted?

"At least, that was the order I was given." Blake looked up at Malikov's strange words. To her surprise, he looked as confused as she was. He picked up the phone and punched a button. "She's here, ma'am."

A few moments later, the door opened, admitting a short woman Blake thought looked dimly familiar; she'd seen her at Beacon. "Good afternoon, Captain—Commander," she said to them as she closed the door. She then walked over to the desk, excused herself as she reached over and picked up Blake's orders to Georgia, pulled out a lighter, and set the orders on fire. She waited as both pilots stared at her, then dropped the burning paper into the empty trashcan just before it would've burned her fingers. She then reached into the interior of her sharply-cut business suit and pulled out a new set of papers, handing them to Blake. "Request for leave approved, Captain."

Blake took the papers from her as if in a trance, and read them. It approved Captain Blake Belladonna, USMC, attached VX-4 Patuxent River, for one month's leave to Menagerie. "But…but I didn't…" she stammered.

"Captain, have we met?" the short woman asked.

"You look a little familiar, but no, I don't believe so."

"Very well. My name is Rissa Arashikaze. I am the Deputy Director of Intelligence for the Central Intelligence Agency. You may have heard of us." Arashikaze reached over and tapped the report. "I read this after I got on base yesterday. It's a very honest and quite superb report. And it will be more than enough for the court of inquiry. Which won't go very far, I suspect. None of you pilots are responsible for what happened, and in fact all of you did quite well under the circumstances. The court of inquiry needs a scapegoat, and they will find it in Captain Ozpin. It's not fair, but it tidies everything up quite nicely. There's no reason for you to be there." She raised an eyebrow at Blake. "Unless you want to be."

"N-no," Blake replied. She knew the fear showed on her face and hated herself for it.

"Then take a month's leave. See your family. Get some perspective. And when you're ready, Captain, let me know. I'll have work for you." Arashikaze perched herself on one corner of the desk. "Unless you were planning on turning those in." She pointed to the wings of gold pinned over Blake's left breast.

Blake looked down at the wings. She had considered it. The Navy and the Marines allowed it. A pilot couldn't hack it for one reason or another, and all they had to do was walk into their commanding officer's office, and turn in their wings. They would never fly again. The Navy accepted the loss of millions of dollars worth of training; if a pilot was that rattled, that unable to perform their duties, then they were a danger to themselves and everyone around them.

But she wanted to fly. "No," she said firmly.

"Good. That would be a waste." Arashikaze got up and faced Malikov. "Please make the arrangements, Commander. If there's any trouble, just call this number and I'll smooth everything over." She handed him a card, with only a telephone number on it. Arashikaze walked towards the door. "Oh, Commander?"

Malikov looked up. He had been clearly blindsided by the whole thing, even more than Blake. "Yes, Director?"

"Make sure she takes the Tomcat with her. It may be needed." She paused at the door. "One more thing, Commander Malikov—Captain Belladonna." Arashikaze smiled. "I was never here." She opened the door and closed it, and was gone.

"What just happened?" Blake said aloud.

Malikov spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know, Captain, but she walked in here yesterday, just like that, off a C-130 from Europe. Next thing I know, I'm getting a call from the Chief of Naval Operations telling me to do whatever she says." He shrugged. "Oh well. Guess you're going on leave."

"Looks that way." She ran her fingers over the paper.

"Menagerie. You know, I've never been there?" Malikov tapped his horns. "Oh well. All right." He pulled a form out of his desk. "I'll have the yeoman type this up for you. I was going to have you leave _Gambol Shroud_ here, but since the CIA wants you to take it with you, I guess you'll take it with you. Can't have it parked at the Menagerie airport, though, so…Holy Loch is close. That's the nearest naval base we have there." Blake nodded. The US Navy's association with the naval base at Holy Loch predated the Cuban Missile Crisis; somehow, it had escaped destruction during the Third World War. The US government leased the base from Menagerie.

"Okay," Malikov said, scratching away with an official US Government issue ballpoint pen, "so you'll fly to Holy Loch. We'll detach you to there while you're on leave. Don't be surprised if you get called away to go talk to the Brits about the hologram system; supposedly they want to put it on one of their Typhoons. We'll fax you orders if that happens."

"I won't have the fuel to make it transatlantic," Blake pointed out.

"I know." Malikov stopped writing, grabbed a folder, and flipped through it. "Let's see…what does 2nd Fleet have up there right now…ah, here we go." He went back to the form. "Fly out to the _Reagan._ She's two days out of Norfolk, headed for the Northern Patrol Barrier. You can fly off her to Holy Loch. Sound good?"

"I guess." She took the order forms from the commander. "Sir," she added.

He looked at her. "Blake, listen. You said in your report that you were fighting the White Fang's field commander. I've heard of Adam Taurus. Didn't realize he was a fighter pilot as well as a terrorist, but whatever. You lost some friends up there. Beacon's gone. We haven't been hit this hard since Cuba. You probably need some time off. Go hit the beach, or look for the Loch Ness Monster, or whatever it is you folks do up there. See you in a month." He paused. "And be careful. As you know, the fucking White Fang operates legally there."

_Only too well._ She gathered up the papers, stood to attention, then executed a parade-ground about face and left the office.

Malikov sat back down, stared at the door for awhile, then picked up the phone. "Yeoman Rand? I'll need you to type up those orders for Captain Belladonna. After you've done that, I need the number to personnel. I'm still waiting to hear what's happened to my sister."

* * *

_Eisenhower Medical Center_

_Augusta, Georgia, United States of Canada_

_18 May 2001_

"Careful, now." Tai helped Ruby down the hall. She let him guide her arm, though it was more for his peace of mind than hers. Except for a slight bit of dizziness and a lot of hunger, she felt pretty good. The doctors had come in, checked her over, shined lights into her eyes, and removed tubes from rather embarrassing places. She still had the IV attached, but at least she had on a robe and her old pajama bottoms—brought from home by Tai—instead of the open-backed hospital robe that left her feeling more naked than if she _was_ naked.

They stopped outside Yang's room. Tai dropped his voice. "Ruby, I'm going to warn you again—"

"She's my sister, Dad. She'll be okay." Ruby gently took her arm away from Tai, hung onto the IV stand, and walked into the room.

Yang was awake. She lay in the bed, no tubes attached to her, though the same machines were present. She was staring out the window. There wasn't a lot to see in that direction. "Hey," Ruby said.

Her sister turned, and Ruby barely suppressed a gasp. Yang's lilac eyes were dead. There was no emotion, no anything there at all. "Hey, Rubes," she said, in a flat voice.

Ruby trundled in. Tai nodded to her, and stayed outside, giving his daughters room. Ruby went over and sat on the bed. It was then she saw the arm.

She'd expected to see Yang's right sleeve to be empty, pinned up like she'd seen in movies or old Civil War photographs. Instead, the sleeve was normal. What was not was the arm. It was a streamlined limb of silver metal and black plastic. It was no crude prosthetic or hook, but an actual arm, and yet not one.

Yang saw her staring at it. "You like it? I'm sort of attached to it." A tiny smile, just a flash of the old Yang. With effort, she lifted it with her shoulder. It remained stretched out, the fingers limp. "Turns out they've got quite the artificial limb clinic here. I woke up yesterday and there it was. Can't move it very well, but the doctors say I will someday. Just like my old arm." She let the arm drop. "Courtesy of General Ironwood. They attached it while I was out. Lucky fucking me."

"Yang, that's…that's pretty awesome," Ruby said. "You'll get that working in no time. We'll have you back in the cockpit!"

"Who cares."

Ruby shrank back, as if Yang had transformed into a monster. "What?"

Yang stared at her sister, and now there was some life in those eyes, even if it was anger. "It's all gone, Ruby. Beacon, Penny…Jaune…and this." She gestured at the arm with her flesh-and-blood one. "Did Dad tell you? About Jaune?"

Ruby nodded. "And it's bullshit, Yang. He got out. I know he did."

"You saw him?" Yang asked.

"He got out," Ruby insisted, and her tone brooked no argument. "Dad told me about Weiss and Blake—"

"Blake _ran!"_ Yang suddenly exploded. "She fucking _ran!"_

"Dad said she flew down to Madison when we were flown out—"

Yang cut her off. "Yeah? Where the fuck is she now, Ruby? She's my wingman—wingmate, what the fuck ever. Weiss didn't have a choice—the Luftwaffe ordered her back to Germany. Probably her dad was behind that, but Weissy's tough; she'll come back. But Blake fucking _ran._ Just like that cocksucking bastard of an ex-boyfriend of hers, who did _that_ to me—" She half-raised the arm again. "Adam said she'd run. I heard it over the radio. And by God, he was fucking right." Yang seemed drained by the explosion, and leaned back against her pillows. "She should be here, Rubes. She should be here with her flight. But she's hauled ass somewhere. Maybe even back to the White Fang—"

"Now that's enough." Yang blinked at the steel in her sister's voice. "You're depressed, Yang. I get it." She cut off Yang's retort. "Okay, I don't get it. But maybe the Marines or the Navy have got her squirreled away somewhere. Maybe she _can't_ come back, Yang! Like Weiss!"

Yang sighed. "She ran, Ruby. I'm sorry. But I know Blake, better than you. And she was always afraid she'd run away again. And wherever she is, I guarantee you she's running. Okay, not back to the White Fang. But she's still running."

"There has to be a reason," Ruby began.

"No, there doesn't." Yang looked away. "Sometimes bad things just happen, Ruby."

Ruby nodded. The two sisters were silent for a long moment. "What do we do now?" Ruby asked softly.

"You can do whatever you want." Yang's moroseness had returned. She went back to staring at the window. "I'm just going to lie here."

"Yang, you—"

"Just leave me alone, Ruby."

Ruby slowly got up, stood straight for a moment to let the brief dizziness pass, and then walked towards the door. "Yang?" She looked at her sister. "I love you, Yang." Then she left, shutting the door behind her.

Tears welled up and ran down Yang's face. "I love you too, sis," she whispered. Then something caught her eye. Using her good arm, she raised the artificial one.

The fingers had curled into a fist.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Tai said sadly. "She's…she just needs time."

"Yeah." Ruby wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Where's Pyrrha?"

Tai blew out a breath. "Hoo boy. You sure? She's in pretty bad shape too."

"She got hurt?"

"Not physically." Tai took her arm—without protest this time—and led Ruby further down the hall. Four doors down, they came to another room. There was a guard on it. "I gotta warn you," Tai said. "This might be worse than Yang." He nodded to the guard. "This is my daughter, Lieutenant Rose."

The guard checked a clipboard. "Oh yes. She's on the list. But not you, sir," the guard told Tai.

"I'll wait."

The guard opened the door, and she went inside. She expected a padded room, or Pyrrha chained to a wall. In actuality, it was the same basic hospital room as her own, and Yang's. Pyrrha was hooked up to no tubes, or even machines. Instead, she lay on a bed, in a hospital robe. It was then that Ruby saw there were no other fixtures in the room, and the restraints on the bed. Pyrrha was not in them, but they were there.

As for Pyrrha Nikos herself, Ruby wondered if the other girl was alive or dead. She lay motionless in the bed, like Yang, staring aimlessly out the window. Unlike Yang, her hair was a mess, her eyes sunk in deep hollows, her skin paler than usual. "Is it time, doctor?" she mumbled.

"Pyrrha?" Ruby asked. A part of her refused to believe this was Pyrrha at all.

One green eye turned in her direction. "Ruby?" The voice was just a bit less listless. Her head turned. "Ruby?"

Ruby smiled. "Hey, Pyrrha."

"Oh, Ruby." Pyrrha slowly levered herself up to a sitting position and held out her arms. Ruby gave a start at the bandages on both wrists. Pyrrha noticed and smiled back. "Oh, that. I'm…better now. Yes. It was bad, at first." Ruby got closer, and let the other woman hug her. Her skin was clammy. "How are you?" Pyrrha asked.

"Oh, I'm okay. Got my bell rung, that's all. Little skull fracture, but I got a thick skull!" Ruby laughed, but it was artificial. She blushed. Pyrrha's robe had fallen open. She wore nothing beneath it. Neither did she seem to notice. "Uh, Pyr—" Ruby finally pointed.

Pyrrha shrugged. "We're both girls, Ruby. Does it matter?" But she did draw the robe shut, after Ruby looked more uncomfortable. She looked at Ruby, and took her friend's hands in her own. "Ren and Nora are okay. Ren got some shrapnel in his leg, but he'll be all right."

"Well, that's great, Pyrrha—"

"And Jaune's dead. Yes. Cinder shot him down. No parachute." Pyrrha held up a finger, and reached onto the small nightstand next to the bed. There were no drawers on it, but on the top was a chain and a single dogtag. "They found this in the wreckage. Amazing how it didn't get burned or anything." She dropped it into Ruby's hand. It was Jaune's dogtag, amazingly intact. "They found his watch, too, but they wouldn't let me see it. Yes. I suppose it was badly damaged."

Ruby was suddenly seized with the impulse to run away from the room, as fast as she could. Pyrrha's voice was matter-of-fact. She wasn't acting like she was discussing her best friend and possible lover's death; she was speaking like they were discussing the weather. Ruby looked at her. There was a faint smile on the redhead's lips, almost as if she was waiting for Ruby to approve of her words.

Then she stared back at the dogtag, and there was no more denial of reality. Jaune Arc was dead. Ozpin was dead. Yang was crippled. Weiss was gone. Blake was gone. And how many others were dead that she'd known? Penny. Ciel. Maybe Glynda; no one had told her yet.

Ruby cradled the dogtag, tried to hold the tears back, but they burst like a failed dam. She bent over, weeping, bawling, unable to stop. It was all over. It was all gone. She felt a hand on her back. "It's all right," Pyrrha said. "I'm sorry, Ruby. I didn't mean to upset you so. But it's all right, you see. Jaune is still here. Yes. I see him every night. He's so beautiful, Ruby, like the angel he is now, and I wish I could fly with him, but the doctors, they won't allow me to, even though I tried—"

"_Stop it!"_ Ruby shouted, shoving Pyrrha away. She threw the dogtag against the wall. "Stop it, Pyrrha!"

Pyrrha looked confused, like a dog that had offended its owner but didn't know why. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

Ruby got up, and nearly fell. She had to leave. Her father had been right. It was worse than Yang: Pyrrha, poor Pyrrha, was insane. She tried to say something, couldn't, and then fled. Pyrrha watched her go, then leaned back against the pillows. She stared at the dogtag on the floor. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's going to be okay. Right, Jaune?"


	33. Broken Pieces

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a pretty rough chapter too. Note that in real life, of course, people don't come back from trauma that fast. But this is a story._

_Probably one or two more chapters after this, and it will be the end of "On RWBY Wings II." There will be an "On RWBY Wings III," and I will be adding all the chapters of this story onto the original "On RWBY Wings" (since I think a lot of people didn't realize there was a continuation), so all the chapters are in one mega-fic. I'll probably take a few weeks' break after this fic is over before starting on the next one, but there **will** be a next one. Especially after what takes place in this chapter._

* * *

_Schnee Manor (Herrenchiemsee)_

_Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany_

_19 May 2001_

Weiss Schnee stepped off the helicopter, ducking underneath the rotor blades as she did so. There was a temptation to jump into them—but only for a moment. Schnees didn't commit suicide. Drank themselves to death, possibly, but not suicide. Such things were histrionic and would ruin the sidewalk.

She walked down the long path towards the manor, past the immaculately trimmed hedges that seemed to hem her in even more. There was another temptation to vault those hedges and run for it, but although no guards followed her, where would she go? She was on an island, and there was nowhere to run.

Finding Klein Sieben waiting for her was no surprise, and despite the rage that was building up inside of Weiss, it was, at least, good to see him. What was a surprise was that Winter was waiting as well at the top of the staircase. Like Weiss, she was wearing her formal Luftwaffe uniform, with a lot of silver braid and medals. "Good morning, Weiss," Klein said with a small bow.

Despite the desire to lash out at anything living, Weiss controlled herself. Klein was a good man, more of a father than her own father, and he deserved none of her wrath. "Hello, Klein." She hugged him, which took the butler back a little. Klein had always warned the girls and Whitley about public displays of affection; he was their servant, after all. The warning had always been ignored.

Then she turned to Winter. As usual, her sister wore her normal expression—that of faint irritation—but Weiss thought she detected a bit of rage beneath her sister's icy exterior as well. She wondered who Winter was angry at. Just in case it was her, Weiss came to attention and gave a formal salute. "Oberst Schnee." It felt strange to be speaking only German again, after so long speaking only English.

"Oberleutnant Schnee." Winter returned the salute with the same amount of crispness. She looked at Klein. "Klein, would you mind leaving us?"

"Certainly, ma'am." He smiled at Weiss. "I will have coffee and Black Forest cake waiting for you in your room."

Weiss' stomach rumbled, reminding her that she'd had very little to eat in the past two days. Her mouth watered as well: Klein wasn't just the chief butler, he was also a baker, one that any high-class German restaurant would've cheerfully killed for. "Thank you, Klein."

Klein gave the small bow again, and trundled off. Winter and Weiss entered the palace and began walking towards their father's office, down the hall of mirrors. Once Weiss had seen this hall as a place of wonder, a statement of what the Schnee family stood for. Now she saw it as pretentious, garish, and stolen. "How was the flight over?" Winter asked, startling Weiss.

"Took two days to replace the engine at La Crosse. Then another to get to Furstenfeldbruck. And when I get there, I'm treated like a prisoner, confined to quarters until I got orders to report here. I don't even know what's happened."

Winter didn't reply for a moment. "Ruby Flight is all right…mostly. General Ironwood notified me last night that Ruby has woken up. She had a concussion, but she will almost certainly make a full recovery. Yang lost an arm—"

"I know. Nora told me," Weiss interrupted.

"—but she has been fitted with an artificial one, and is recovering."

"And Blake?"

Winter shook her head. "Unknown."

"But you'll tell me as soon as you know?"

Winter glanced at her and dropped her voice. "Not here." Then she raised it again. "Juniper Flight is also recovering, but…" A pause, and a slight misstep in Winter's stride. No one else would've noticed it, but Weiss did; for her sister, it was a violent display of emotion. "Jaune Arc is dead."

"I know," Weiss sighed. She'd learned it at La Crosse, when they'd brought Pyrrha and Ruby in on the rescue helicopter. Pyrrha had said nothing, merely stared into space, broken. Ruby was unconscious. That night, Weiss had cried, cried harder than she had in years, for the man—boy, really—who had flirted with her, who she'd blackmailed, who she'd used, but then grew to respect and like. Once or twice, she'd even regretted not pursuing him, though she was happy he'd ended up with Pyrrha. He was gone now, like so many others she'd known at Beacon, and the survivors would have to somehow pick up the pieces. "Do you know…how Pyrrha is?"

"Recovering," was all Winter said, but there was a lot in the way she said the single word, letting her sister know that Pyrrha Nikos was far from recovering.

They finished walking down the long hallway, and took the stairs to Jacques Schnee's office. Weiss felt her insides clench, and once more fought the instinct to run. But the Luftwaffe had ordered her here, and Schnees obeyed orders. Winter opened the door, and followed her sister inside.

Jacques Schnee sat behind the desk, writing. He looked up, and to Weiss' surprise, smiled. He stood, adjusted his tie—_a clip-on,_ Weiss snickered to herself; Jacques Schnee would never figure out how to tie a tie—and came around the desk. "Hello, Weiss."

"Father." Weiss thought about coming to attention, but instead slouched a little. She came to attention for people she respected. Her father didn't seem to notice, though Winter frowned a little.

"Welcome home." He actually hugged her, another surprise, and then stepped back. Between her service with the Luftwaffe and Vytal Flag, it had almost been a year since she had seen him. He hadn't changed—his hair was still slicked back in the style of an earlier generation, both hair and mustache gone completely gray, the white suit immaculate, his blue eyes still piercing. Jacques could be intimidating when he wished to be, but now he was being affectionate. That told Weiss she was in considerable trouble. "You look well." He motioned to the seats. "Please, please."

"I'd rather stand, Father. I don't anticipate being here long."

Jacques looked down and let out a long sigh. "I'd hoped that we could get off on the right foot, Weiss, but I suppose that's not going to happen."

Weiss softened her voice a little. "It could. I'm happy to stay a few days—" that was a lie "—but after that I must return to duty. The Americans will hold a court of inquiry, and I will need to fly—"

Jacques cut her off with a wave of a hand. "That will not be necessary. You have already written a formal report, yes?" He returned her nod, then went back around the desk and sat. "The US government tells me that will suffice. The Americans are in no place to demand anything." He looked at Winter. "You haven't told her?"

"I thought you might want the honor of doing that yourself, Father." Winter's voice fairly dripped with sarcasm.

"Very well." Jacques tapped a manila folder on his desk. "Weiss, you are being promoted to Hauptmann. Overdue, in my opinion." Weiss steeled herself for what was coming next; poison was often coated in honey. "And you will be my liasion to the Luftwaffe. Schnee GmbH will be ramping up DUST production, and it will be your job to ensure that the fighting squadrons of our air force are successfully integrating the software. DUST has been one of the few success stories of this debacle." It was the first time he had referenced Beacon, however obliquely.

"I see," Weiss said. "And I suppose that means I will be working mainly from Herrencheimsee." She used the old term, deliberately to irk him.

"Yes," Jacques replied, with steel in his voice.

"And this will be a nonflying assignment?"

"Again, yes." Jacques spread his hands. "Weiss, please. You have done your duty to the Fatherland. You are being promoted, you will be awarded medals—twelve victories, I understand? That makes you one of the highest scoring pilots of the Luftwaffe. There is no need for you to do anything further! Please, stay here and relax. Help your family. Learn how to run the company."

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was no longer the heiress."

Jacques waved that away as well. "You are again. I admit I lost my temper with you, but that is behind us."

"And this is an order from the Luftwaffe?" Weiss asked crisply.

"Yes." Weiss looked at Winter, who nodded.

"How long is this assignment?"

"Six months," Winter said, before Jacques could open his mouth. "And then you will return to active duty, flying _Myrtenaster_."

"_Possibly_ returned," Jacques snapped. He took a moment to calm himself. "Whitley will be happy to see you, Weiss. As will your mother."

"Yes. Where is Mother?"

Jacques found other things to look at in her office. "She is…taking a week or two at Baden-Baden." Weiss translated that in her head: Willow Schnee was drying out at the spa again. "She will be back in a day or two."

"I see." Weiss put her hands behind her back. "So I am a prisoner, then."

"What? Don't be ridiculous!" Jacques laughed. "You are never a prisoner, Weiss. I'm sure when your mother gets back, we will head into Munich for shopping—"

"Then I can leave? Right now?" Weiss knew it was useless, but she had to try. "Speaking of leave, I have several months accumulated. I will take that, right now. Lufthansa has a flight from Munich to Atlanta tonight. I would like to see my friends again, Father."

"You…" Jacques massaged his forehead. "No, you can't leave. By order of the German government. Weiss, the Bundestag has its own inquiries it wants to make about what happened at Beacon."

"Mm. And how many politicians did you bribe to get that order?"

Jacques came out of his chair. "That is _enough,_ Weiss. You are ordered to stay here by the Luftwaffe, by the German government, and yes, by me. I am your father, which is something you tend to forget. And if you try to leave German soil, you will be declared absent without leave, be arrested, and then you will truly be a prisoner. And broken." Seeing the defiance in her eyes, he pointed to the door. "Enough. You have your orders, Weiss."

Weiss snapped to attention so hard the leather of her boots audibly smacked. She executed a salute that would have made any drill sergeant faint with its excellence. "_Jawohl."_ Then she turned on one heel and marched out the door.

Jacques sat, then glared at Winter. "Do you have something to add?"

"Only this, Father." Winter smiled. "How long do you think you can keep her here?"

* * *

_Eisenhower Medical Center_

_Augusta, Georgia, United States of Canada_

_19 May 2001_

Ruby looked up from her book as Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie walked into the hospital room. "Hey!" She slid off the bed, ran over to them, and hugged them both tightly. "God, it's so good to see you!"

Nora returned the hug with equal enthusiasm, and to Ruby's pleasant surprise, so did Ren. "You look well," he said.

Ruby snorted. "Hell, I'm good to go. I could check out today, but they won't let me." She walked back to the bed and sat down, while Nora and Ren took the chairs. "How's the leg, Ren?"

"Good." He flexed it in front of him. "The shrapnel wasn't too deep. It looked worse than it was." Nora leaned over on him all the same. Their hands found each other; Ruby wondered if they were even aware doing so. "Any problems?"

"I told you I was fine." At the disbelief in Ren's expression, Ruby shrugged. "Okay, fine. They haven't cleared me back to duty yet. In fact, they want me to take a few weeks off. Dad's supposed to drive us back up to Patch tomorrow."

"Then Yang's okay to travel?" Nora asked hopefully.

"Yeah, but…" Ruby checked the door. It was closed. "Guys…Yang's…different. She's not all happy and nutty like normal. She's just…" She shrugged again, helplessly. "She just sits in bed and stares out the window. They gave her an artificial arm, but she acts like it's not even there."

"Losing an actual piece of yourself means you lose more than that," Ren observed. "She'll be all right, Ruby. She just needs some time."

"I guess." Ruby toyed with her blankets. "You guys are here to see Pyrrha, right?"

"Yep," Nora said. Ruby looked up. Even with that short response, there was anger in Nora's voice.

"She's in bad shape," Ruby warned. "Worse than Yang." She couldn't suppress a shudder, remembering the day before. "She's gone crazy, guys. I think she's just…she's just lost it. And I don't think she's coming back this time."

Ren got to his feet. "Leave that to us. We have a plan."

"She's been seeing some psych docs—"

"They aren't her friends." Nora got up as well.

"You want me to come with?" Ruby said.

"Not this time," Ren replied. "I'm afraid this is something Juniper has to do on our own. Sorry, Ruby." Nora jumped to Ruby's bedside, kissed her on the forehead, and followed Ren out the door.

"Good luck!" Ruby called after them.

* * *

Ren found Pyrrha sitting listlessly on her bed. In her fingers, she twirled Jaune's dogtag through her fingers, flipping it down, then back up again, not even looking at it; she stared out the window, a faint smile on her face. She turned slowly as they walked in, and her smile widened. "Ren! Where's Nora?"

"Getting some lunch for us," he told her.

She held up the dogtag. "Now Juniper is all together again."

Ren smiled back. "We are indeed. Nora and I were wondering if you might join us on the roof. It's a beautiful day, Pyrrha. And I brought you a surprise. From Jaune."

Pyrrha blinked. "From Jaune? But…" Then she nodded. "Yes, of course." Her smile faded. "But…the doctors. They don't want me to go up on the roof. I went up there a few days ago to try and fly away, but they stopped me."

"We've cleared it with them," Ren lied. He and Nora were taking a gigantic chance. It flew in the face of psychiatry and logic, and if they were wrong, not only might Pyrrha probably end her days in a mental institution, she might just get her wish to fly away. Straight down. But Ren and Nora had talked it over, and agreed it was worth a try.

He helped Pyrrha up, and as she put on her slippers, couldn't help but wrinkle his nose a little; Pyrrha hadn't bathed in awhile, and he could see stubble on her legs. Her hair was beyond help, filthy, overgrown and tangled. He couldn't meet her eyes. Their vivid green was washed out, dead, and her smile never reached them. He put out a steadying hand, and Pyrrha took it gently. He then led her out into the hallway, made sure the coast was clear, and quickly led his friend to the stairwell. They went up a flight of stairs, and onto the roof.

He hadn't lied about it being a beautiful day. Spring had reached Georgia, and the air was alive with the smell of pine trees and the noise of june bugs. It was also humid, but that was something all three of them were used to; Beacon had actually felt a little too cold, most of the time. Nora was waiting, pulling out from a bag a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, Original Recipe. Pyrrha actually clapped her hands in delight, something that brought a smile to Ren's face, a genuine one: they'd noticed Pyrrha's weakness for American fast food—one reason she had jogged every morning. It had also been Jaune's favorite, which was why Nora had chosen it.

Nora spread out a blanket on the roof, and they all sat around it, careful to leave one side open for Jaune. Nora was careful to set out a plate for their friend, as if he was there; Pyrrha nodded approvingly, the dogtag clutched in her hand. Pyrrha reached for a drumstick, but Ren held up a hand. "Your gift, first. From Jaune."

Pyrrha nodded, and Ren reached into his pocket. "Oh," she said, giving a little start. It was Jaune's cell phone. "Where did you find it?"

"There's something you didn't know," Ren said. "Before every mission, whether it was combat or just training, Jaune started giving me his cell. I gave him mine. We had recorded messages on it, for our families…and friends." He glanced at Nora, who began fighting tears. "If something happened. We started doing it after the big fight we had with the GRIMM in the first week. Before we ran across the tarmac at Beacon, while we were suiting up, he handed me his phone, and I handed him mine." Ren had not bothered to ask the graves registration people if anyone had recovered his phone. There had been a message on there, for Nora. But that was all right. "After Jaune went down—" Ren was careful not to say _killed_ "—I listened to the recording. I wanted to make sure that there was nothing on there he didn't want his parents to hear. But he had—has—a message for you."

"Oh." Pyrrha flipped open the phone. Jaune had never bothered to change the picture; it showed a lighthouse. She searched through the buttons until she found his messages. There was only one; she didn't know Ren had erased the others, since Jaune also had never bothered—or didn't know how—to erase various notifications from credit card companies, his bank, and a dentist in Madison. There was just the one now, for her.

"Play it," Nora said. She reached out to take Ren's hand. This was going to be rough. Pyrrha nodded, and hit the button.

"Hey, Pyr!" Jaune's voice made them all jump, and Pyrrha nearly dropped the phone. "Hey, listen. I hope you don't mind that I recorded this in English. My Greek's pretty lousy, and your French…well, it's perfect, like everything else, but if you're listening to this, Ren and Nora are there too, I bet, and they don't speak French. Well, Nora does, but she only knows how to say hors d'ouvres.

"But anyway…look, Ren and I have been exchanging cells before we go out on missions. Y'know, just in case. And I've written a letter for my folks, but you…they might not give you a letter, since we're not related or anything." Jaune paused. "Not yet, anyhow. But…heh…maybe soon, huh?"

"Oh God." Pyrrha's eyes filled with tears. Jaune had somehow recorded this only a few days ago, probably when she was out on the mission that had killed Penny. The morning they had made love, they had joked about doing it on a regular basis—and more, what Jaune had laughingly called "authorized ass." It was as close as an engagement as they had ever made.

"Well, maybe I'm just saying that because…well, you know," Jaune was saying. "You know, Pyr…it felt like so much effort just to progress a small amount, when you were training me, all those nights. But I hope I made you proud. I've never met someone so determined to make someone better. I've grown so much since we started training. And I know…this is just the beginning." They could hear the smile in his voice. Then they heard his voice catch, with emotion. "Pyr…I…I…I want you to know that I'm just happy to be part of your life. Somehow, Pyr…I'll always be here for you. And…ah, hell, I'm gonna say it…I love you." Jaune laughed. "Weiss would say I'm a sappy idiot, and she's right. But I do. Anyway, this is a silly message, and if you're listening to it…it probably means Nora found it, and she's playing it to make fun of me. Which I totally deserve for recording some stupid message, like I'm gonna die or something. Yang says only the good die young, so I'm gonna live forever. But anyway…yeah."

The message ended abruptly. Pyrrha stared at the phone, willing it to play more. But that was all. She cradled the phone to her breasts, slowly bent over, and began to cry. Nora was across the tablecloth in an instant, nearly stepping in the mashed potatoes, to hug her friend, and Ren was there too. Pyrrha's weeping became huge, shuddering sobs, and then she threw her head back and wailed, screaming at the top of her lungs. _Let it out,_ Ren thought, unashamedly crying as well, holding both of the women he loved—one as a lover, one as the sister he never had. _Scream, Pyrrha. Jaune deserves it. Scream at the whole, stupid, uncaring world._ And she did. She screamed until she became hoarse, and could only cough and sob. Nora massaged her back, whispering "It's okay, Pyrrha" over and over, her own tears running down her face.

The door to the roof flew open. A security guard and a nurse came out. "What's going on?" she demanded.

Ren looked over his shoulder. "We're holding a wake, miss. Do you mind?"

The nurse hesitated. She saw Pyrrha, and knew the pilot's condition. She took a step forward, then stopped. "All right," she said. "But keep an eye on her."

"That's what we're doing," Ren replied. The nurse nodded, turned to the security guard, and motioned him back through the door. It was breaking protocol and regulations, but the nurse had been around long enough to know that sometimes one had to do that.

After another few minutes, Pyrrha's crying had subsided. Nora and Ren still held her. "He's gone," she croaked. "He really is gone. He hasn't been to see me. I…I was imagining all of that."

"Yes," Ren said simply.

"Jaune will always fly with us," Nora said reassuringly, wiping the tears from her face. "We just can't see him."

"The doctors…they say…I was hallucinating."

Ren touched her cheek. "Pyrrha, I don't know if Jaune's spirit has passed on, or perhaps he is indeed still here with us, and maybe does speak to you. Metaphysics is not my strong suit." He looked at her, with that direct gaze that unsettled people who did not know Lie Ren. "But I do know that Jaune would not want you to be like this. He would not want you to simply exist, or sit in a room crying."

Ren got to his feet, pulling Pyrrha up with him. He pointed to the roof's edge. "If you jump off that roof—and neither Nora nor I will stop you—then you will make a mockery of everything Jaune stood for. You are one of the best pilots in the world, Pyrrha, whichever air force you decide to fly for. Yes, you were shot down—you're not invincible, but you knew that.

"We have lost a battle, Pyrrha. Beacon is gone. Jaune is gone. Ozpin is gone and so are many others of our friends. But we have not lost the war. We have only begun to fight. And we must continue to fight, or it will happen again, and more friends will die."

Pyrrha nodded, remembering Amber and the story of the Maidens. It would happen again. "Yes."

"And if you die," Nora said, "then you've left us behind—me and Ren." She sniffled again pitifully. "We're both orphans, Pyr. Juniper Flight is all the family we've got."

"And let's not forget Ruby Flight," Ren added. "Ruby seems to be all right, but Yang is hurt worse than all of us. Weiss and Blake have disappeared. They need us too." He stepped away from Pyrrha. So did Nora. "But now is your chance, Pyrrha. If you think _that_—" he motioned to the roof edge once more "—is the quickest way to see Jaune again, then go."

Pyrrha stared at the edge. From here they could see all of Augusta. It was a long way down, ten or twelve stories; death was almost certain. She could be free of all the pain, all the hurt, all the memories of her dead squadron over Crete, all the memories of Jaune Arc. She wasn't sure of an afterlife, and Pyrrha didn't consider herself religious; she had been raised Greek Orthodox, but had turned away after Crete. No God who cared would have allowed that to happen, she had thought. Suicide might be a sin, a mortal one that consigned her to hell forever, but the hell of flame and brimstone couldn't be any worse than the hell she was in now.

But heaven or hell, Pyrrha knew that Jaune would never forgive her if she leapt off the roof. Nora and Ren might not stop her, but they would never forgive her either. And neither would Ruby Flight, or the others, or the dead faces of her squadron that haunted her. None of them would forgive her if she took her own life. And that was a hell far worse than any burning pit.

She was still clasping the phone to her. She closed her eyes, let out a deep sigh, and opened them. "All right." She said at last. Then she handed the phone to Ren, turned, and headed towards the roof door.

"Where are you going?" Nora asked.

"I'll be right back. Please wait for me." Pyrrha left the roof, went down the stairs, nodded to the guard and the nurse that waited on the next landing, and brushed them off when they tried to help. She went into the room, ignored the doctor standing there, then went into the bathroom. She tossed the robe aside, stepped into the shower, and turned on the water full blast. The initial coldness made her gasp, but it warmed soon enough. She scrubbed herself vigorously, then washed her hair. After drying herself, she wrapped the towel around her, and came out of the bathroom. Now two doctors were there, along with the nurse. "Would you mind shaving my legs?" she asked the nurse.

"Sure." The nurse got a razor, and Pyrrha kept her hands in sight as the nurse shaved her legs to the smoothness that Jaune had loved. Pyrrha thanked her, asked for some clothes. They found her some. She thanked all of them, then returned to the roof, flanked by the nurse and the guard, half an hour after she'd left. She let her hair fall free; she'd have to find a circlet somewhere later. The nurse and the guard left, and Pyrrha sat cross-legged. "I don't know about the two of you," she said with a smile, "but I'm famished."

Nora had already polished off two drumsticks, and she filled Pyrrha's plate. Pyrrha dug in. "Mmm. Oh, my. That is _good."_ She downed a third of a Dr. Pepper and smeared a drumstick in coleslaw. "So. What is happening in the world? Have they determined where the Wyvern came from?"

Ren and Nora smiled at each other. There was a long way to go, but Pyrrha Nikos was going to live. For Jaune. For all of them.


	34. Don't Stop Believin'

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was going to be the last chapter of "On RWBY Wings II," but it ended up running really long, due to Tai's conversation with Yang and Ruby. So one more after this. After all, we need to find out what happened to Cinder._

_The books that Tai gives to Yang are real ones, and the people he references-Douglas Bader and Alexei Mareysev-were real fighter pilots. If you want some true stories of a pair of badasses that just would not quit, you could do worse than those two._

_I feel I need to apologize for Rissa Arashikaze showing up more in this. Although my stock-in-trade is OCs (as anyone who's read my Battletech and Evangelion stories knows), I wanted to avoid them as much as possible in this, to avoid even hinting at a Mary Sue. However, given the nature of this AU, there needs to be someone to give Ruby and Juniper Flights their orders, so Arashikaze fits that bill. Basically, she's there to goose the story in the right direction...and to introduce a little bit of intrigue. After all, it's a trope that you never can quite trust a spymaster..._

_And yes, the last scene in this chapter is reference to Rooster Teeth's tribute to Monty Oum, who sure did create a fun universe to play in. "Flying west" is a fighter pilot term for when someone passes on, so that seemed appropriate._

* * *

_The Xiao Long-Rose Residence_

_Patch, North Carolina, United States of Canada_

_22 May 2001_

"Girls! Dinner!" Taiyang Xiao Long called out. He set the steaming plates of grilled cheese sandwiches and egg drop soup out on the table.

"Be right down!" Ruby called from upstairs. There was no response from Yang, but Taiyang was already becoming used to his oldest daughter's morose silence.

He fixed his own plate, paused, and sighed. Their home was a modest one, in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains; the nearest city was Asheville, forty miles to the southwest, and Tai's nearest neighbor was Mrs. Mallari, a half-mile away. Surrounding them were deep woods; behind the house, the terrain climbed to a limestone cliff. He'd built this house soon after he'd married Raven Branwen, when Strike Flight was assigned to Signal, on land left by his mother; after Raven had left him with a newborn baby, Summer Rose had begun visiting to help him. One thing led to another, and then they married as well. Three years after Ruby's birth, Summer had disappeared, leaving him alone to raise two daughters who didn't understand why Mommy was gone.

But they'd made the best of it. After Yang was born, Tai had resigned his commission and took on a job as a flight instructor at Asheville. Some of those years raising the girls had been lean ones, but they got by somehow: sometimes Qrow gave Tai money, and sometimes it just mysteriously appeared in his account; Tai suspected either Ozpin was quietly helping him, or maybe even Raven. He wasn't too proud to take it, though he could've eased their financial situation considerably had he simply accepted Summer's death benefits. He refused, and every year, when a USAF official came to the house to ask if he would change Summer's status from Missing in Action to Killed in Action, he would politely refuse again. Tai realized he was probably an idiot, but he just couldn't do it.

When Yang had graduated and gone off to college to become a fighter pilot, it had gotten only somewhat quieter—but after Ruby had left, it had gotten entirely too quiet. It had just been Tai and Zwei, until Ruby had been assigned to Signal, but even then, she'd only been home once or twice a month. The girls had both promised that, when Vytal Flag ended, they'd take leave and come home for awhile.

Now they were, and things were worse.

"Dad?"

Tai shook himself from his reverie. Ruby was staring at him. He turned and grinned. "Sorry about that, kiddo. Got lost in thought there for a bit. It happens when you get old."

"Gimme a break. You're barely over forty, Dad." Ruby sat down at the table.

"It's not the years, Ruby—"

"—it's the mileage. Yeah, I know." Ruby scooted her chair forward. "We waiting for Yang?"

Tai looked up at the ceiling. "No. You go ahead. I'll take Yang's food to her."

Ruby reluctantly began eating, and Tai picked up the plate and bowl and headed upstairs. The ground floor was a living room, kitchen and guest room that Tai had converted to an office, whereas the upstairs was three bedrooms and a bath. Yang's door was open. He walked in, and was not surprised to see her laying in bed again, flipping through one of Ruby's comic books. She had done nothing but that, aside from calls of nature and a shower, since they'd gotten home the day before. "Hey, pumpkin. Dinner."

"Thanks, Dad." Yang reached out—with her left arm; her right one lay next to her like a dead thing—and pulled a little table close to her. Tai set the food down. "You really should eat dinner with us," he told her.

"I will, Dad," Yang reassured him, though her voice wasn't very reassuring. "I promise. I just…I'm still adjusting, okay?"

"Okay." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Need anything, just yell." Yang merely nodded, and Tai left. He went back downstairs. "Be right back, Ruby. Need to grab the mail." Ruby also only nodded, but that was because her mouth was full. He really didn't need to grab the mail, but Yang's morose attitude had reminded him of something.

He stepped off the porch, Zwei at his heels before the corgi broke off to do his business against a tree. Tai walked down the gravel path to the dirt road that led a mile through the woods to the highway. He checked the sky. It had rained that afternoon, but the storm was blowing itself out, picking up its gray skirts and scudding over the mountains. The sun was fighting a successful battle to get through the clouds, promising a beautiful sunset.

Then he saw the car coming down the path. It was USAF blue, and Tai's heart jumped into his throat. It was the wrong time of year for the USAF to ask him about Summer's status, and the solitary official car usually meant someone had died. _Oh God,_ Tai thought, grabbing the mailbox to steady himself, _Qrow._ Qrow Branwen was supposed to fly into Signal that evening and drive up in the morning, but accidents happened, even to the best pilots. He remembered a similar car pulling into the driveway, and disgorging Qrow, Summer's commanding officer, and the base chaplain, to tell him that Summer was gone.

Tai slammed a hand into the mailbox to break the spell. It had been a foolish thought: the car could be one of a hundred things. It could just as easily be orders for Ruby and Yang that the USAF didn't trust to a phone call. He steadied himself as it pulled up in front of him. The passenger side window rolled down, and a short woman he didn't recognize leaned across. "Excuse me!" she called out. "Is this the Xiao Long residence?"

"Xiao Long-Rose, yeah." Tai always insisted that Summer's name not be forgotten.

"Oh, thank God. I've been driving around for the past 20 minutes looking for this place. I'm here to see Lieutenant Ruby Rose and Captain Yang Xiao Long. You must be Taiyang, their father."

"I'd better be. And you are?"

"Rissa Arashikaze. Can I pull into your driveway?"

The name sounded dimly familiar. "Sure." He watched as she pulled in and stopped in front of the garage, then reached into the mailbox, and smiled. A thick package waited there; it had arrived. He pulled it out of the mailbox and met Arashikaze halfway. She was dressed in civilian clothes. "You're Air Force?"

She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I guess I can trust someone who used to be part of Strike Flight with this information. I'm the Deputy Director of Intelligence with the Central Intelligence Agency."

_Oh shit,_ Tai thought. _A spook._ He'd never liked spies. Strike Flight's job caused them to occasionally work with them, usually from the CIA, and he hadn't come away impressed. It had been CIA intelligence that had gotten Summer—made Summer disappear, Tai corrected himself. He wondered if the person who had given those orders now stood in front of him.

"Don't like me, huh?" Arashikaze smiled. He was startled, and realized his emotions must have showed on his face. "That's all right, Mr. Xiao Long. I'm not here to be liked. I just would like a word with your daughters, and I'll be off."

Tai forced himself to be polite; Southern hospitality was not to be denied, even to a spy. "That's all right, Miss Arashikaze. Would you like something to eat? It's grilled cheese and soup, but if you're hungry…"

She didn't respond, but her stomach did, loudly. "Oh, all right. Sure. Thank you. But if I could speak with your daughters first? It's kind of urgent, and I'm afraid I need an answer quite soon."

Tai crossed his arms, consciously making himself a barrier between Arashikaze and his daughters. "My wife had that conversation, about 17 years ago."

"I had nothing to do with that, Mr. Xiao Long."

"Maybe not, but one of your bunch did. If you're going to send my daughters off on some suicide mission, Miss Arashikaze, you can turn your little ass around, get back in your car, and fuck right off."

Arashikaze stared up at him—Tai had at least a foot on her, possibly more—and then nodded. "That's fair. All right, Mr. Xiao Long. I'll tell you. I'm going to _ask_ them if they want to help us find who's behind this. Track down Salem's whereabouts—" she held up a hand as he went red with rage "—by going to Japan. I have a lead there. Not the Sea of Japan, where your wife disappeared, but just Japan. Via Alaska."

_The same route,_ Tai thought. _Aren't these bastards ever going to have enough?_ "And if they say no?"

"Then I get my little ass back in my car, and I fuck right off," Arashikaze answered. "They get orders to their next duty assignment as usual, and nothing more is said anywhere, by anyone." She crossed her arms as well. "Look, Mr. Xiao Long. I don't particularly like doing this. Ozpin, by all rights, should be standing here, not me. But someone has attacked my country, killed a lot of my countrymen, and has caused a great deal of panic that it will take months to recover from. They will hit us again—you know that as well as I do. It so happens that Lieutenant Rose and Captain Xiao Long were already involved, and therefore that means I don't have to let more people I don't know anything about in on a few secrets—secrets that you already know yourself. And yes, I thought they might like a bit of old fashioned revenge." She stepped closer, not intimidated by his height. "Ozpin was my friend too, Mr. Xiao Long. And I lost him. And now I want to kill the fucking bitch who caused it. So this stops happening, and your children—and mine—can grow up without having to worry about the next GRIMM invasion."

Taiyang stared down at her. "Who else have you talked to about this?"

"Lieutenant Valkyrie, Captain Lie, and Major Nikos. They're going regardless…but they would feel better with the half of Ruby Flight that's still in country to help them."

Tai stood resolutely for a few moments, then closed his eyes and stepped out of the way. "All right. You can talk to them."

"Thank you—"

He grabbed her arm as she tried to move past. "Get them killed, Miss Arashikaze, and I will kill _you_ with my own bare hands. Understand?"

She looked down at his hand. It easily fit around her slender bicep. "You've just threatened a high government official."

"And?"

She smiled. "And I don't blame you in the least."

* * *

They went inside. Introductions were made, and Tai served a plate to the CIA woman. She tried to avoid it, but hunger won over other considerations, and she quickly wolfed down the sandwich and the soup. Tai noticed she ate like someone who was used to eating fast and on the run. She finished, covered a belch with her napkin, then asked Tai, "So where is Captain Xiao Long?"

"Yang's upstairs. She's…not feeling well."

"May I speak with her?"

Tai hesitated. His first instinct was to say not just no, but hell no. Tempting with the same mission that had killed her mother was bad enough; he didn't want Yang to do the same thing. _Not both of them_ ran through his head. Then again, the prospect of action just might be enough to jar Yang out of her depression.

Ruby made the decision for him. "Yang's really not up for it, Miss Arashikaze. She's…well, she needs some time. She went through something pretty traumatic. I can tell her later, if you like."

"I suppose that's fine." Arashikaze took a drink of sweet tea, and began. "Lieutenant Rose, I will do something that goes against every word in the CIA instruction manual: I'm going to tell you the truth, direct and ugly. I'll trust that it does not go beyond these walls, though your father already knows most of what I'm going to say.

"You've been briefed that the GRIMM are drones, which they are." Ruby nodded. "What you have not been told is that we actually _do_ know who controls them. Her real name is immaterial, but her codename is Salem, for the witch trials. She has been controlling the GRIMM since they arrived on the scene in the 1960s."

Ruby sat back in her chair. "Holy shit. So there _is_ something controlling them. Who is she?"

Arashikaze folded her hands in front of her. "We don't know everything about her, but she's a former Russian official. It's conventional wisdom that the Soviet Union was completely wiped out in the nuclear exchange of 1962. That is not true. Millions of Russians survived. Some were able to flee. Others were killed by the GRIMM. Some still hold on in pockets of civilization here and there—Leningrad, for instance, and in the Caucasus. But many—millions—simply disappeared. We think they joined Salem, either willingly or not so willingly."

"Then the GRIMM come from Russia?"

"It would be a mistake to blame the GRIMM on a nation that's long dead, or a people who had nothing to do with the war in the first place. The GRIMM attack all humans and Faunus, no matter their nationality. They're remarkably equal in that respect." She smiled grimly. "We've never been able to find where she is, or where the GRIMM are manufactured, or how she controls them, if indeed she does. But oddly enough, the fall of Beacon has given us a clue. We were able to backtrack the Wyvern from when it crossed the Pacific Barrier. It crossed into the Pacific north of Japan. From there, clues point to Siberia." She shrugged, spread her hands. "Of course, Siberia is gigantic, and Salem could be anywhere in there, so we can't exactly call in the B-52s if we don't know where she is."

"I'm not sure that's much of a clue," Tai put in. "There's been suspicion that the GRIMM are coming out of Russia's dead zones for years."

"Very true. But this is different. Salem's always relied on GRIMM hordes before. This time, she had people of a bit more fleshy variety helping her."

"Cinder Fall." Ruby's hands clenched into fists.

"The same."

"But Cinder's dead, right? I mean, I rammed her F-22. No one saw her bail out." Ruby thought of something. "Unless Pyrrha did."

"Major Nikos was already in the trees by the time you rammed the F-22. She didn't see either of you bail out. She only knew you'd survived when the pararescuemen saw you dangling from a tree." Arashikaze finished her tea. "The seat was gone from the F-22, and we found Cinder's parachute. But no body."

"Then she's still alive somewhere."

"We have a policy at the CIA: if you don't identify a body, assume the person you're after is still alive." She looked at Ruby squarely. "Emerald Sustrai and Mercury Black were also never found, and witnesses placed both of them in the confusion when Beacon was evacuated. We have to assume all three are alive. But they give us the clue: they came from somewhere. They were given aliases, fake backstories. Whoever gave them those backstories knows something. Of course, we don't know who that is…but we know someone who might know who that is. Someone quite eager to help us, since it's almost a certainty that Cinder Fall was behind Ruth Lionheart's murder."

"Leonardo Lionheart?" Tai asked.

"Forgive my flair for the dramatic," Rissa admitted. "It's a personal failing of spies."

"Last I heard, old Leo had retired from the RAF." Both women were now looking at him. "We met Leo a few times when Strike Flight was in Europe. He was one of the old gang along with Ironwood, Glynda Goodwitch, and Ozpin."

"I spoke with Air Commodore Lionheart briefly when I was in the UK a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, he's no longer in Britain, so it's not as simple as just sending you across the pond. Officially, he's come out of retirement and accepted a temporary job as air attache to Japan—a favor the RAF did for him, obstensibly because he wants to stay busy so he's not dwelling on an empty house and a family he no longer has." Tai winced at that; he knew the feeling. "While that is undoubtedly part of the reason," Arashikaze continued, "there is another, more important one. You see, Creamer Flight was vetted personally by Lionheart. They were passed on to him. He's tracked down who passed that to him, all the way back to Japan."

"That's a lot of work," Tai said.

"He's had some time on his hands…and a very good reason. Lionheart wants to find the people who murdered his daughter. Ironwood told me you knew about that already, so it's no surprise." Ruby nodded sadly. "He's requested we send him trained Huntsmen and Huntresses. I told him I knew of five that qualify, all of whom knew Ruth Lionheart and would be happy to help."

"Five?" Ruby asked.

"Yourself, your sister, Lieutenant Nora Valkyrie, Captain Lie Ren, and Major Pyrrha Nikos. Major Nikos told me she's more than ready to return to duty. I have my suspicions, but she would be a valuable asset."

"And she wants revenge for Jaune Arc," Tai added.

"Quite." Arashikaze let out a long sigh. "That's the mission, Lieutenant. As a carrot, you'll be assigned a F-16—a new one, a Block 32, whatever that is—to replace your old one. The least the Air Force can do." Ruby nodded, unable to keep the avarice off her face. A new and improved _Crescent Rose_ was plenty of incentive. "But here's the stick." She glanced at Tai. "This mission is quite similar to the one that your mother died attempting, 17 years ago. My understanding, from your uncle, is that there is an empty grave just up the hill from this house. Granted, we have better equipment, better intelligence, and you won't be going in alone, as Summer Rose did. However, Salem has managed to kill every person we've ever sent out against her personally. If her lair is in Siberia, you're going to be very close to her. And we have no idea just how much she may have penetrated the world's intelligence organizations. That's why I'm here, instead of sending someone else, and why I'm telling you this instead of General Ironwood. He's too recognizable. No one knows who Rissa Arashikaze is, mainly because officially—" she smiled "-I'm not here and don't exist."

Tai shifted uncomfortably from where he was leaning against the sink, a movement Arashikaze noticed. She reached across and, to Ruby's surprise, took the younger woman's hands in her own. "I want you to think about this, Ruby Rose. Think about it overnight. Tell your sister, if you want. But I want you to think about it, because there's a very good chance if you take the mission, you might have an empty grave on that hill too. Your father does _not_ need that."

"Then why are you even offering?" Ruby wanted to know.

"Because I wanted to give you the choice." Arashikaze let go and stood. "Again, think it over. If you refuse, nothing more will be said. It will not reflect on your career. You'll still be assigned the new F-16, and the Air Force will send you somewhere—I imagine, with your record now, you can ask for any place you want. That will be the end of it. Valkyrie, Lie, and Nikos have already accepted, but they don't have families. You do. You have a sister who needs you, even if she doesn't seem to, and a father who, I'm sure, is tired of watching his daughters leave."

"You sound like you don't want her to go," Tai observed.

"As I said, Mr. Xiao Long, I'm offering her the choice. That's all."

"But you could order her." Ruby turned at the steel in her father's voice.

"Not personally—"

"Don't give me that. The CIA can fix things like that. I know. They did it to us _plenty _of times," Tai snapped.

"I could," Arashikaze admitted. "But I won't." She reached into a pocket and handed Ruby a card. "That's my phone number. Call it anytime. A car will be here in an hour or less to pick you up and take you to Signal, where you'll meet the others. If I don't hear from you in 24 hours, I'll assume that you've decided not to go. If your sister chooses to come along, my offer extends to her as well." The CIA woman smiled again, this time more warmly. "And I'm sure we can find a F-15 lying around for her."

"She's not ready to fly yet," Tai warned. "Nowhere near."

"Of course. My apologies. But when she _is_ ready…" Arashikaze let the question hang in the air. "All right. Lieutenant, your father very much wants to punch me in the face, and as strong as he is, he would probably do me permanent damage. I'm going to leave. Think it over, and get back to me. Or not, as the case may be." She gave a small bow to Tai. "Thank you for dinner. Reminds me of my grandmother's cooking." Tai did not respond, only glared at her. She nodded in understanding, and walked towards the door.

"Wait!" Ruby called out. When Arashikaze stopped, Ruby asked, "What about Weiss and Blake?"

Arashikaze did not bother keeping the sadness off her face. "Hauptmann Schnee—she got promoted—has been assigned as military liasion to Schnee GmbH. There's nothing I can do."

"And Blake?"

Another pause. "Captain Belladonna has been given a new assignment. I talked with her this morning. She…requested that I not divulge where she went. I can tell you that she is safe, but other than that…I feel I have to keep the Captain's confidence."

Ruby nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

Arashikaze opened the door. "You know, as the philosopher Steven Perry once said, don't stop believing." She nodded once more to both of them, and was gone.

* * *

Tai and Ruby remained in the kitchen a long time, even after Arashikaze drove off. Neither said anything, lost in their thoughts.  
"Dad?" Ruby finally said. "I'm going to talk this over with Mom, okay?"

Despite himself, Tai smiled. When Ruby was confronted with a tough decision, she went to talk it over with Summer. Or rather, Summer's gravestone. It always helped. "Okay. I think I'll talk to your sister."

She got up from the table, and hugged him tight. "I love you, Dad. I love you. Please don't worry."

He kissed her hair. "I love you too, Ruby. Whatever you decide, I will always love you and Yang more than anything."

She squeezed him, then let go, and walked out the front door. Tai watched her go, then leaned over the sink, trembling, trying to get control of himself, trying to hold back the tears. He knew Ruby had already made her decision.

* * *

Yang, despite not wanting to eat, had lost the battle to hunger. The soup was gone, and half of the sandwich by the time Tai walked in with the package he'd gotten out of the mailbox under one arm. Despite his worries over Ruby, Tai turned his mind to the battle at hand. "Hey there. Hungry after all, huh?"

"I guess."

"Got something for you." He set the package down on the bed, and unwrapped it for her. It was two books. "Since you're going to be in bed a lot, I figured I'd get you something to read."

She reached over and picked up the books with her left hand, one at a time. "_Reach for the Sky? The Story of a Real Man?_"

"Yep. I read both of these when I was in flight school. Good stuff. Lots of air action. And true stories. Well, _Reach for the Sky_ is. _The Story of a Real Man_ is fiction based on fact," Tai amended.

"I don't get it," Yang said.

"_Reach for the Sky_ is about Douglas Bader. _The Story of a Real Man_ is based on Alexei Mareysev. Both of them lost their legs in air crashes, but got back into the cockpit and finished World War II as aces. Thought that, given your present predicament, you might find them interesting." He motioned at her arm.

Yang tossed the books aside. "I appreciate it, Dad, but I'm not getting back into a cockpit again. Ever."

"And why's that?"

She lifted the prosthetic, with her left hand. "Um, duh?"

"And? These guys lost their legs above and below the knee. And they got back into it. You've got a limb ahead on both of them."

Yang fixed her father with a lilac glare. "Dad. Don't start. I don't want to fly again."

He smiled back. "Bullshit. Total, unadulterated, pasteurized bullshit. You tell me that, but you're staring at the sky all the time since you got shot down." He sat on the bed. "Yang, I'll be straight with you. I'd love it if you took a medical retirement, stayed here with your old dad, and helped him putter around in the garden. But you wouldn't. Every time you saw something fly over, you'd remember being up there in the deep blue, and you'd miss it. It would tear you up worse than anything that son of a bitch who shot you down did to you. And eventually you'd probably either be fighting to get back into the Air Force, or you'd kill yourself. I'd be highly disappointed if you did the latter, by the way. I've lost enough people in my life." He thought of Ruby and just barely kept the smile on his face. Yang didn't need to know that. Not yet.

"Dad…please…"

Tai was relentless. He hated doing it. He was hurting his oldest daughter, his little sun dragon, and it tore him up inside as well. But he had to. "You lost an arm, Yang. Not your life. What you need to do is get up, move around, get some fresh air, and start learning how to use that arm rather than pretending it's not there. You need to quit feeling sorry for yourself, get off your ass, and get back up there." He pointed at the ceiling, then at the books. "These men didn't quit, Yang. And I will be _damned_ if I allow a daughter of mine to do the same."

"Leave me alone," Yang snapped.

Tai shook his head. "Not gonna happen, pumpkin. You can rest now, if you like. But I'm coming in here at 0800 tomorrow morning and rousting your ass out of bed, and we're going over to Mrs. Mallari's to muck out her barn. And I will drag you there if I have to."

Yang slammed her hand down onto the small table, upending it and sending soup bowl, plate, and half-eaten sandwich everywhere. "I said _leave me alone!"_ Then she realized she'd used the prosthetic hand.

Tai stood up. Silently, he walked over and picked up the bowl, plate and the sandwich. He moved the table aside. Then he stood over his daughter, whose eyes were misty. "Good," he said. "A little old fashioned, pissed-off rage. That's an improvement." Then he left the room, hating himself, wondering if he'd saved Yang or destroyed her.

Yang wiped her eyes, slammed the artificial hand into the bed, then rolled over on her side. She lay in silence for awhile, then picked up _Reach for the Sky,_ and started reading.

* * *

Ruby was sitting down next to the gravestone when Tai got to her. Summer Rose's empty grave was beautifully placed, at the side of a cliff. Beyond was the majesty of the Great Smokies and the Blue Ridge, and the unending carpet of forest stretching off into the distance. He stopped and looked down. It was a simple granite slab, reading _Summer Rose, Major, USAF. Thus kindly I scatter._ The latter was a line from Summer's favorite poem. Above the words was Summer's personal symbol, a rose that seemed to be burning, and an etched pair of pilot wings. Ruby had adopted the burning rose as her own, and it had been painted on the tail of the last _Cresent Rose._

He sat down next to her. "You two have a good talk?" Tai asked Ruby.

"Yeah. She thinks I'm nuts. I told her I come by it naturally."

Tai sighed. "You've decided. I figured you would. You decided the moment Arashikaze made the offer."

Ruby nodded. "Yep."

"I figured. You're our daughter. Stubborn, crazy, and never willing to back up from a fight." Tai put an arm around her. "Think I pissed Yang off. I hated to do it, but I figure if she gets mad, she'll start moving around, if for no other reason than to spite her old man."

Ruby leaned into her father. "She'll be okay, Dad. She just needs some time. It's not just the arm, you know."

"She lost a fight. That's tough, especially for someone like Yang."

"She also lost a friend. Blake…they were close. Friends as well as wingpeople. Or whatever we're calling it these days. And Blake ran away. Doesn't even want to talk to us. I mean, I know Blake—she probably just needs time, too. And who knows what the Marines have her doing. Weiss is gone too, but I doubt that assignment was at Weiss' request. She hates her dad, and the feeling's mutual." Tai shook his head. Children were precious; he could never imagine hating a child. He hoped Yang wouldn't hate him. "That's really tough. But Yang will bounce back, Dad. I know it."

"You sure you don't want to stay and help her bounce back?" It was a desperate attempt to keep Ruby there, and both of them knew it.

"I can't, Dad. It's not about revenge. I don't know who this Salem chick is, and I don't care. But if I don't go, and Juniper gets wiped out, I'm always gonna wonder if I could've prevented it. And if I don't go, Arashikaze's going to find some other poor bastard. Juniper can't be down a person."

Tai looked down, and slowly gave her a nod. It was duty, then, and that made so much more sense. Ruby was going because she cared for her friends, and was not going to quit on them. He'd raised her with that. Summer would have as well. And in the end, that was what it was all about: each other. He'd felt the same way about Strike Flight, and it would be selfish to assume that Ruby would not feel that way about her people.

Tai looked at his daughter. Ruby Rose had grown up. She would never again be the little terror that slid down the bannisters, who tackled him when he came home from work, who begged him to sew up her stuffed animals, and who came into his bedroom, sniffling that she'd had a bad dream. She would always be his daughter, but the child was gone. In her place stood a woman, one tempered in the fire of combat, who had come out steel. In his mind's eye, he could see another gravestone next to Summer's—_Ruby Rose, 1__st__ Lieutenant, USAF. The Last Rose of Summer._ But he knew he could not prevent it. The little bird was no longer little: she had left the nest, and she would fly on her own.

Tai suddenly began crying. "Please, God," he whispered. "Please, God." Ruby understood, and tightened her grip on him.

In the distance, a flock of birds rose from the woods, circled, and flew west.


	35. Fear the Reaper

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, this is it for this story arc. See below for more notes on what's happening next._

_Incidentally, Signal is located where the real Seymour-Johnson AFB is IRL. Mount Yamantau is also a real place, and rumored to indeed be an underground mountain shelter for Soviet/Russian leadership, to this day. _

* * *

_Signal Air Force Base_

_Near Goldsboro, North Carolina, United States of Canada_

_23 May 2001_

Ruby Rose stepped out of the car onto the tarmac. It was hot, made worse by the concrete tarmac and the Carolina humidity. Instantly, foul-smelling odors assaulted her nose: jet fuel, smoke, hot metal. Her ears were equally under attack as two F-15s taxied out towards the runway. They were painted gunship gray: F-15Es, Strike Eagles, designed to rearrange landscapes, though they could fight air to air as well.

Ruby smiled. She was home.

A car door slammed behind her as Rissa Arashikaze followed her onto the tarmac; she was not smiling, but grimacing, hands held over her ears. This was not her home, of course, though she was the one giving the orders. She brought her hands down as the F-15s moved on. "No wonder you fighter pilots go deaf," she mused.

"What did you say?" Ruby asked, grinning.

Arashikaze rolled her eyes. "The others are inside, but before we go, I want you to see something. I pulled some strings, but I think it'll be worth it." She motioned Ruby to follow her.

They walked down the tarmac, sweat exploding from their pores; Ruby was wearing her dress blue uniform, while Arashikaze wore a women's business suit. But finally, in front of a hangar, they stopped.

Two aircraft were parked outside: a J-10 and an A-10. Ruby recognized them instantly, of course. Lie Ren's J-10 sported a new paint job, dark grey that probably hid all the battle damage repairs. Above the red aircraft number on the tail was his personal emblem, a purple lotus flower. Nora's A-10 was also freshly repaired and repainted—or it was a new aircraft; Ruby couldn't tell. It still had Nora Valkyrie's personal hammer emblem on the engines and BOOP over the gun on the nose, but there was a new emblem. She'd carried a heart symbol beneath the canopy, next to her name, but now the heart seemed to have a tear in it. It was a broken heart, and Ruby knew why.

Arashikaze cleared her throat politely, and pointed into the hangar. Ruby walked in. It was cooler inside. To her surprise, she saw a F-22 parked there. "Who's is that?" Ruby wondered, and then saw the marking on the outside of the twin tails. It was a spear against a sun, surmounted by a double crescent moon. Underneath the chine on the nose, painted in black, were the words _Crocea Mors II._ Ruby wondered no more: the Raptor was Pyrrha's.

Then she turned, and Ruby's grin spread ear to ear.

It was a F-16. A C model, she could tell; still an older model, as the Block 32s were still a decade old, but newer and more advanced than her old ADF version. Most of the differences were internal; the only quick way to tell was the antenna at the junction of the forward end of the tail and the fuselage. But it was red-trimmed on the spine and wingtips, and the blazing rose was on the tail, shiny and new. She ran around to check out the left side. Sure enough, _Crescent Rose II_ was painted on the intake, along with ten and a half kill marks. She noticed it was already loaded: two AIM-9 Sidewinders on the wingtips, two AIM-120 AMRAAMs beneath the wings, and two "bags," large external fuel tanks. Beneath the fuselage was a slim travel pod, which would carry clothes and such. She was definitely going somewhere, and not for training: the missiles were live.

"I know I promised you a new one," Arashikaze said, ducking under the nose; she was so short that she barely _had_ to duck. "This was the best I could do on short notice."

"It's perfect!" Ruby looked around. "Where's Chief Vogelmord?"

"Headed for your new duty station, which isn't here. Follow me."

They went inside the hangar, hit with a wonderful blast of air conditioning. They walked down the hall and came to a door. The CIA woman opened it and ushered her inside.

Nora let out a whoop when she saw Ruby, and in moments, Ruby was smothered in hugs from Nora, Ren, and Pyrrha. The latter still had dark circles under her eyes, betraying lack of sleep, but the empty look in her eyes was gone; there was more vitality there.

Arashikaze let the reunion go on for a bit longer, then cleared her throat again. All four pilots walked to where she had spread out a map on a table. It was a map of the Remnant, what was left of the United States and Canada. "All right," she began, "we'll make this rather brief. You need to get going, and so do I." She looked up at them, regarding them. "What do I call you?"

"Captain Ozpin gave us flight codes based on the letters of our first names," Ren replied. "So we're Reaper Flight."

"Reaper?" Arashikaze raised an eyebrow. "There's no 'N' in Reaper."

"It was either than or Nerp Flight."

"Or Peener," Nora chirped.

"Or Pern," Pyrrha added.

"Reaper Flight it is," Arashikaze quickly said, before the four of them could come up with other outlandish names. "Very well. You're going to fly from here to Hill Air Force Base, north of Salt Lake—right on the edge of the Western Dead Zones. From there you'll fly to Vulcan, in Alberta, and thence to Eielson, in Alaska. From Eielson, you'll be making a long haul from there to Matsushima, in Japan. That's where Leonardo Lionheart will meet you. Because Matsushima is a bit of a mouthful, and because certain people might just be listening in on your radio calls, the codename for the base will be Haven. That should be easy enough to remember.

"On the way, you will likely be required to render assistance to any units in contact with GRIMM. Already we've had reports of an uptick of GRIMM activity in the Dead Zones. We can assume that Salem is taking advantage of the chaos caused by the fall of Beacon. Besides lending your expertise to our forces, it will also maintain your cover as simply a flight of fighter pilots heading to our bases in Japan—and for you, Captain Lie, returning home to China." She spread her hands over the map. "Because Cinder Fall and her cohort were able to so easily insert themselves into Vytal Flag, we must assume that we are compromised somewhere along the line. While you are on your mission, I will be doing what I can here to clean that up; Ironwood is doing the same in Europe. I have not yet informed him of your mission, but I will once you have reached Haven."

"What about Yang, Blake and Weiss?" Ruby asked. It was probably a vain hope, but she had to try.

"If Captain Long decides to join you, I will brief her of your mission and she will join you as soon as possible. The same with Captain Belladonna-if she so chooses. Hauptmann Schnee…" Arashikaze shrugged. "I'll do what I can, but don't expect her."

"How long will this take us?" Pyrrha asked.

"Take your time. I should think about two weeks, but if you need longer, that is fine. We are not really in a hurry. You should be at Haven no later than July 4." Her lips quirked into a smile. "Entirely appropriate."

"How do we communicate with you?" Ren wanted to know.

"You don't. When you get to Haven, I'll know. Let's leave it at that. If I need to communicate with you, I will find a way, rest assured. Besides, you'll get briefings at your waypoints from the base commanders on local conditions. You don't need me for that." She rolled up the map, and began to hand it to Pyrrha, who shook her head, and gently pushed the map towards Ruby. "Major?" Arashikaze questioned. "You're not leading the flight?"

"Not this time. I do not think I am…mentally ready for that. And Captain Rose has shown herself to be eminently qualified as a flight leader."

Ruby wondered if Pyrrha's mind was still wandering. "But I'm a 1st Lieutenant."

Arashikaze smiled. "Actually, _Captain…_the Major is quite correct. You're out of uniform." She reached into a pocket and pulled out the double bars of a Captain.

* * *

Half an hour later, they had changed into flight suits—a new one for Ruby, but the other three still wore their faded and battered ones. All four retained their helmets, however: Ruby's was still bright red, but there was a silver slice into it where she'd hit the canopy. Arashikaze had offered to get her a new one, but Ruby refused: this was a mark, a reminder.

Now they stood on the tarmac, all four aircraft ready to taxi. Ruby regarded them: Nora, Ren, Pyrrha. She wished Yang, Blake and Weiss were here too, but someday, she promised herself, they would be. For now, this was enough. These people were her family as much as Taiyang and Yang were. They were bound by bonds as deep or deeper than blood: love, friendship, camaraderie, and just a tinge of revenge. As they put their helmets on, it reminded Ruby of knights, gearing up for a crusade. That was entirely appropriate, she thought: it _was_ a crusade, one that was going to rid the world of Salem, once and for all. It might not happen in this mission, or this year, or even with all of them still alive in the end. But it would happen. Even if only one of them was left, it would happen.

"Haven's a long way to go," Ruby sighed.

"I know," Pyrrha said. "But it's the only way we have."

"The journey will be perilous," Ren said. He could be eloquent when he wanted to be. "And whether we'll find our answers at the end is entirely uncertain."

Nora touched his shoulder. "But we wouldn't be here if we weren't up for it."

"Then let's get started." Ruby put out a gloved hand. Pyrrha's landed on top of it. Then Ren's, and Nora's. There was the briefest of holds, a silent prayer, the feeling of the world shifting under their feet, even the slightest brush of an old friend, as if a fifth hand was lying on top of theirs, Jaune Arc's.

And then they pulled their hands back, and left to their aircraft. No one cheered, or spoke words of encouragement, or said anything at all. They were beyond that.

They were Reaper Flight.

* * *

Rissa Arashikaze watched from the hangar as they took off. As soon as Nora, the last in line, left the runway, she turned away. There was no reason to watch them any further. "You can come out now."

Qrow Branwen stepped from the shadows. He was also wearing his old, battered flight suit. "Thanks for not telling them."

"It was foolish. They should know you'll be tailing them the entire way. You'll be lucky if you don't accidentally get shot down."

"I can handle myself." He took out a flask, took a drink, replaced it, grinning at Rissa's discomfiture. "Don't worry. I don't usually drink and fly."

"Ozpin trusted you," she said. "I suppose I must as well." She stared at him, and sighed. "You know how to contact me."

He patted the paper folded into a clear pocket on the right leg of his flight suit. "Got it right here."

"If you lose that, there will be hell to pay."

"I won't. You'll find Oscar Pine?"

"Yes. I'll let you know when I do."

He began walking out of the hangar, squinting in the sunlight. His F-117 was parked in the hangar next door. "You sure you won't meet us there?"

"I have business here, and then perhaps in Europe."

"Yeah. I guess that would be quite a trip for a pipsqueak like you." He winked. "Catch ya later, kiddo."

Rissa watched him go, smoldering, and not with the heat. "Don't call me pipsqueak," she said under her breath. "And I'm older than you, moron." Then the humor hit her, she laughed, and walked back towards her car. It was a long drive to Greenbrier.

* * *

_Mount Yamantau_

_Ural Mountains, Russian Dead Zone_

_23 May 2001_

Emerald Sustrai looked out over the forest below the mountain. It seemed unending, and was pristine. Above her was a gorgeous cerulean blue sky. It was not at all how she'd anticipated the legendary lair of Salem. She'd expected some sort of blasted hellscape, not this lush woodland.

Of course, there had been hellscapes, though it had gone past in a blur in the week since the fall of Beacon. She and Mercury had driven due west, escaping the bulk of the refugee traffic, and they had been extraordinarily lucky: they'd seen the dogfight between Cinder, Pyrrha Nikos, Jaune Arc, and Ruby Rose. They'd seen Cinder bail out after Ruby had rammed her. Mercury had wanted to find Pyrrha and Ruby, and kill them both, but Emerald had overrode them: they had to get to Cinder. Rescue crews would be all over the area, and then none of them would escape. Luckily, he'd listened to reason. They'd found Cinder, gotten across the Mississippi at La Crosse in the chaos, and met up with Arthur Watts and Adam Taurus at the now-truly abandoned Mountain Glenn base. Then it had been a whirlwind of safe houses, smuggled cargo flights, and assumed names across the Atlantic, to Menagerie, where Adam had left them. Then across Scandinavia, into the wilds of Russia. And here.

"Are you all right?"

The voice startled Emerald. It was soft, the English accentless. She swallowed, turned, and looked into the face of Salem herself.

Not that the face was unpleasant, Emerald thought; Salem, for a woman who should be at the least pushing sixty, barely looked forty, aside from the gray hair pulled into six severe braids. She also didn't look human. She was tall, her skin was so white it was nearly translucent, enough that Emerald swore she could see the veins beneath. It was the eyes that were worst: they were red. Emerald's own eyes were a reddish-brown, but Salem's was the color of blood. She wondered if Salem was an albino, but even that didn't seem right.

Salem was waiting patiently for an answer, so Emerald gave her a brittle smile. "I'm all right, Miss Salem." It occurred to her that she didn't even know the woman's real name; Salem was a codename, she knew, but the woman seemed to prefer it.

Salem stepped forward, though not entirely into the sunlight. "It is a rather beautiful day."

Even though she really didn't want her to come any closer, Emerald decided that being polite was a good idea. There was something about Salem that simply exuded a wrongness, something that should not walk upon the earth. "I was going to go for a walk, if that's all right. Did you want to join me?"

"No, thank you," Salem replied, to Emerald's relief. "I find myself not liking sunlight much anymore. But you go on. Take someone with you and stay close to the mountain—there are wolf packs in the woods. Unlike those you find elsewhere, these have a taste for humans."

"R-Right." Emerald went back inside. Maybe Mercury, if his legs were healed up, might want to go for a walk. That reminded her. "Miss Salem? How's Cinder?"

Salem folded her hands in front of her, as if in prayer. She wore a light cloak, black with red trim, that made her look even more pale and sinister. She also did not have the figure of a sixty-year old, but of a much younger woman. "Cinder will recover, but it will be slow. We could not save her arm; gangrene set in, and it had to be amputated."

"Then she won't fly again," Emerald said sadly.

"On the contrary. I will have her fitted with an artificial arm, made from the same material that the GRIMM are made from. Skin grafts will take care of the area of her left side and face where she was burned. Unfortunately," Salem told her with sorrow, "we were not able to save her eye, but she is a good enough pilot to compensate."

"What about her lungs?" When they'd found Salem on the forest floor, the left side of her face a blackened ruin, her arm shattered, she could not speak, and her breathing was labored.

"They were slightly burned, but she should be able to recover…in time. It will all take time, Emerald." Salem touched her shoulder. The other woman thought Salem's touch would be ice cold, but it was surprisingly warm. "We will take care of her, my friend. Now go on. You should take Hazel with you—he could use the exercise."

"Yes, ma'am." Emerald walked away briskly. Salem was not offended. She had that effect on people.

She walked back inside the mountain, through a switchback that let no light from the interior outside at night, past two burly guards dressed entirely in black, even their faces covered. Their masks were white with red around the eyeslits, making them look like GRIMM themselves. She nodded at them, and then entered the mountain, going down a stairwell, through a three-foot thick blast door, and into the hollow interior of Mount Yamantau.

It had been built as a vast underground complex for the Soviet government to take shelter in, in case of nuclear war. None of the Soviet leadership had made it here before Moscow vanished under two American Minuteman ICBMs, but Salem had. Yet shelter was not all Mount Yamantau had to offer.

She looked down onto a vast factory floor, stretching off beyond where she could see. Under soft lights, GRIMM were being constructed by an army of workers. Their grandfathers and grandmothers had come here, seeking shelter from the nuclear holocaust, for as bad as the Soviet missiles had devastated America and Europe, the American, British and French nuclear weapons had done far worse to the Soviet Union. The American, British and French governments had survived more or less intact. Their Soviet counterparts had not, leaving Salem in control almost by default. There was no one else.

And for an exhausted, starving, irradiated and desperate Russian population, if they did not have a Premier or a Czar, they would make do with a Czarina.

She'd fed them, healed them, sheltered them, and put them to work. Word had spread throughout the devastated land, and more had made their way to Yamantau. Gradually, they had come to like their life in the mountain warrens, under their benevolent Czarina. And for those who didn't like it, and wanted to try and leave, there were the wolves, and the GRIMM.

GRIMM assembly lines stretched out, swarming with people and robots they'd built. Beowolves, Locusts and Ursai came together here; under other nearby mountains were larger assembly lines for Death Stalkers; the Nevermore were built under vast acres of camouflage. And there were others Salem were working on, more advanced Beringels, Griffons, and Geists.

Salem leaned against the balcony railing. She returned the wave of one worker.

"How does it feel?" she said to herself softly, in English. "How does it feel, Ozpin, down in Hell? Knowing that all your time and effort has been for nothing? That your guardians, your Maidens, have failed you? That everything you built will be torn down?" She nodded. "Your faith in mankind was not misplaced, my love. When banded together, unified by a common enemy, they are truly a threat. But divide them…place doubt in their minds…and any semblance of power they have will wash away."  
She paced down the line of the balcony. "Of course, they won't realize it at first. Like you, they'll cling to their fleeting hope, their aspirations. But this is merely the first move, Ozpin.

"So send them. Send your guardians, your precious Huntsmen and Huntresses, and when they fail, and turn to your last hope, your smaller soul…know that you send her to the same pitiful demise. This is the beginning of the end, Ozpin." She smiled. "And I can't wait to watch it all burn."

* * *

_This is the end of "On RWBY Wings II: Vytal Flag." I'm going to take some time off and recharge a bit, and then be back with "On RWBY Wings III: Reaper Flight," which will take us into Seasons 4 and 5 of canon RWBY. _

_Once more, thank all of you for reading this story, for your kind reviews, and your support. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. More is on the way! And thanks again to Rooster Teeth and Monty Oum for creating such a wonderful universe to play with and play in. _


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